Strange Things Happen
by PippinStrange
Summary: The SEQUEL to Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper. Pippin finds herself flung from a carnival ride and into the adventure of the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. The journey is brought to life with tournaments, the Pevensies, dragons, islands, and more. Pippin must deal with a different kind of danger and learn that being mature doesn't always mean being grown-up. R&R!
1. At Festivals with Highheels

**Dear Reviewers:**

**Yes, it is time. Due to my third year in university being so busy (18 credits, five classes, part time job, several essays a week) my update schedule will be a little on the slow side. Thank-you all for those who have been patient, and will continue to be patient. **

**It's good to be back :)**

**Pippin**

**PS: You'll find that the epilogue of Dr. Pepper will deter greatly from this introduction. Many things, like friendships and personalities (including mine) have changed a great deal since our last adventure. But don't worry. It's still me, and this is still going to be a fun ride!**

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**Summary:**

**Sequel to Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper. Pippin is back and joining the Pevensies aboard the Dawn Treader. Adventure and hilarity to ensue. Blatant self-insert, anti Mary Sue. R&R!**

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**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

**By Pippin Baggins**

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**Chapter One,**

**At Festivals With High-Heels**

I don't suppose anyone would recognize me now.

I suppose they'd wonder what the blazes came over me. Why I would put my life on the line… why I was risking my neck for this.

Was my existence worth this?

Who would look at me and think I was the same person?

I, painfully nicknamed Pippin in high-school—forever dubbed through the internet as Pippin Baggins—was wearing a pair of _high heels._

Anyone I once knew could perhaps recognize me—but they would take one look and say, "That can't be Pippin. Pippin would never be caught dead in high heels."

My point exactly. I was waiting for the moment to trip and fall over, face planting, and dying. It would be all too easy; a lack of coordination and air of clumsiness was still in my possession. I still couldn't dance to save my life. Nothing about me is graceful. All it takes is a little fissure in the ground, a hole, an unstable blade of grass—a friendly shove, or an unfriendly shove—followed by any other kind of accident. A spilt drink, a bicycle going by too quickly, maybe getting chased by a bee.

Anything could happen, and then, I would die.

In my mind, there is no injury or hospitalization. It's always instant death for me. It goes straight from possibilities to an epitaph, a prediction to a eulogy, a random thought directly to the grave digging… from a single gulp of Dr. Pepper to being swung out two stories over a parking lot but landing in a sandy cave instead?

Hey, it happens.

But I didn't fall, and I didn't die. I sat on a park bench and took a deep breath, crossing my legs, looking absently on my cell phone, trying to act as if I wasn't just planning my funeral. I awkwardly wiped perspiration from underneath my bangs, glancing with envy towards a family walking by, all holding a different colored sno-cone each.

_Gotta love summertime, _I thought, waving a hand at my chin, trying to cool down. A short walk, (albeit terrifying,) from the music stage to the food booths, was no easy walk in a pleasant Walden sun.

No, this sun was angry and bent on sending showers of metaphorical hellfire down on the sweating heads of my small-town village. This was the hottest summer I could remember. My arms stuck to my sides, the backs of my hands were turning red from being left out of the sunscreen application. My hair hung lank around me, and the jeans I wore were screaming out my stupidity in fashion choice.

There's a very good reason why my father calls me _Creature of the Night. _

I hate the sunshine, but not as much as I hate warmth. I like to wear a sweater and watch the rain—not boil alive without the privilege to scream like a lobster in a pot.

Staring too long at the grass, bleached and parched in the July dehydration system, would give one a migraine. People all over the park dropped like flies from heat exhaustion. I was regretting leaving my water bottle near the stadium.

The festival where every resident of Walden gathers, on the last weekend of July, was always the highlight of my summer. There are booths, rides, the small-town parade, the live music, the fireworks display, the fair, the parks, and the bustling crowds of Waldenese folks who were either way too friendly or not friendly enough. It always reminded me of the scene in Grease when everyone I know gathers in one place. I expected someone to break out in _We Go Together _at any minute. Can't deny the fact I wasn't guilty of it myself once or twice.

There were picnic tables all around me, and booths with typical fair foods—like corn dogs and cotton candy—and all kinds of people. I looked around listlessly, unsure what I was looking for.

I didn't even know why I walked over here, I didn't have any money.

The band playing over on the music stage wasn't terrible, there's no reason why I should have left my shady place and friends. I had simply gotten up, said "Be right back," and marched in one direction. Without thinking of where to go, I was suddenly preoccupied by keeping my ankles from rolling out beneath me.

There was nothing around the food court, nothing interesting. The trees hung damp with humidity around the park. You could almost feel the ultraviolet rays. Everyone wore sunglasses—not a pair of eyes were to be seen. There were a lot of whining children. I saw one with a runny nose.

I shuddered, grossed out, and decided to leave.

As I began to walk again, I tried not to focus on each footfall. I was listening instead. I listened for a breeze, I listened for some kind of movement in the air. I listened for a roar in the rumbling engine of an antique car rolling by, from the vintage car show down the street. I listened for a cry, a cry that might grow louder, and turn into the lone hark of a Narnian horn.

I knew these moments of restlessness, suddenly needed a walk, breathing in the normalcy—breathing out the memories—were pretty pointless. Life is life. This was the summer of invisible volcanic lava drenching my pores. This was the summer of a festival, like every year, meeting friends and family on a picnic blanket to watch flowers of fire erupt and explode in the night sky. This was my real life. And I was never going back to Narnia.

And so one, stuffy summer evening passed like any others. The air conditioning was turned on, I read and wrote a little, watched too much TV with my brother, and eventually dropped into my bed. It's just another night like many. Tomorrow was day two of the festival; time to leave the music and food, and seek out rides and games instead, and end the spectacular by watching fireworks rise into the dark Saturday night sky. And this climax would end my summer, August was for preparing again for school.

_It's the holidays now_, I thought sleepily, _What I wouldn't give for a cruise or something. Anything. Something... THAT something. One more time._

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Day three of the festival dawned hotter than the last. Everything was shadowless in the ravaging, bleaching, white-hot air blanket wrapping Walden in its thermal embrace, giggling _Global warming! Global warming! _

During an air pocket of evening, where a breeze that did not bring any cooling whistled through the heavy boughs of light blue twilight, it was time to brave the crowds of the carnival ground with my friends. With blankets and bags left behind on the soccer field, amidst hundreds of little family clusters already waiting for the fireworks show, we picked our way through into the artificial gold lights of rides and games that ripped you off. There were six of us or so, friend who'd known each other from church or school, gripping hands and laughing hysterically as we fought crowds and jerks to get in line for the Ali Baba ride.

The Ali Baba is a row of seats, two rows in fact, like the innards of a school bus with no walls and the seats facing all left, with only pull-over guards to keep you in these rows. A giant swinging mechanism, with the seats attached to the bottom, begins swinging slowly from side to side like a pendulum. It begins swinging so hard that the rows are carried higher and higher, until it freezes for a moment at the top—and all of Walden is spread in twinkling lights below—and then gains enough speed to shift and drop, drop drop, like the Tower of Terror, all the way down. Three times it does this terrifying draw up, up, and up, and freefalling down, down, down, until the swinging slows and we can depart, still screaming with laughter and adrenaline. It makes ones head feel like popping off.

Standing under the ride itself, while waiting in line, is utterly terrifying. Standing next to its base, the rows of seats will be swung just over our heads, dangerously close, with a metallic roar and a rush of wind and pieces of straw from the dusty material of the fair's ground. I stood in distracted bliss, laughing with my friends, basking in hilarity, feeling nothing but life within the moment, thinking of nothing that was passed and nothing in my future. In an essence, my mind was reduced to simply being a young adult in summertime—there's nothing but giggling like a fanatic at some inappropriate joke, making plans that never happen, or awkwardly moving aside for yelling, swearing people.

Eventually we're crowded into the seats, apprehension glistening on our foreheads and in the palms of our hands. We clutch the small bar over our shoulders like the protective device on a swing-set for toddlers. The motor starts, and our laughter grows into shrieks, and eventually, the shrieks into screams of rushing terror—but the fun kind.

Up—up—up! High above Walden, my head feels as if it is swelling to the size of a balloon and about to burst. The sprinkled streetlights light up small spheres of people pointing to and laughing at our ride, held high for the split second of euphoria in the night sky, finally growing dark to the normal human eye. Then we drop, and I scream so much it hurts my stomach, and my lungs pump for a lack of oxygen. Then we swing down again, down as if Edgar Allen Poe is pressing down with a giant thumb, trying to send us into a great pit of people already watching with their mouths hanging open. But the momentum carries us up again, into the brief relaxation of Walden's upper atmosphere.

I hear the high, mournful wail of a train whistle.

Completely forgetting the brace I'm in, I try to sit up and peer over the nearest tree-line. Just down the street lays the library, quiet and subdued in after-hours sleep. The tracks, alongside, are empty. There is no train. Why do I hear a train?

Second drop, a whoosh of air, left completely breathless and teary-eyed. I had one more chance to see why this whistle… the whistle that spoke out of travels into time and completely different worlds… was loud enough to be heard over the crowds, merry-go-round soundtrack, and the first eruption of fireworks.

In the crack of pink and yellow, the fireflies of the maelstrom spectacle, sucking "ooh's!" and "aah's!" out of the crowds dotting the lawns. It distracted me a moment as the ride came up again in an instant. I tried in vain to sit up again, clamoring my collarbones against the brace in a rather painful epiphany.

I was looking; I was free-falling for the last time. I was hurtling towards the earth in nothing, protected by nothing, seeing nothing below my feet. Fairgrounds I came from, but it would not be to fairgrounds I would return. Laughter faded into sounds of absence, the music died away like a bad record in a horror film, stuck on one chord and losing its volume.

But I did not feel afraid. The feeling I felt, whatever it could be labeled, was only one of _rightness. _Wherever the current of air rushing in my ears and gravity shutting my eyes was taking me, this was the right way to go.

It was almost like my soul had been expecting this. Like I knew it was going to be tonight—in a shower of fireworks, in the shriek of laughter, in the scream of a train whistle behind a curtain of visibility—as if I knew what was going to happen all along.

_I'm on my way, Narnia._

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**Alright, lurkers and very patient, pleading fans, you may review. Your reviews always coax me to do my best, so please, leave your thoughts for me :)**

**Thanks for reading! **


	2. In Forests and Beaches with Nobody Else

**Note for new lurkers:**

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******This is a sequel. Check out "Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper" so that you don't get lost. Hehe.**

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Dear Reviewers:

**(cracks knuckles) Hoo, boy, it feels good to be back. I will warn you all, I actually haven't seen the movie yet. I heard it is very good but departs from the book a lot. I will be seeing it the day after Christmas, though; I'll use it for a bit of dialogue reference most likely, but other than that, I will be trying to stay closer to the book.**

**I will post a review of Dawn Treader on my tumblr account: **

**http : / / papayapie (dot) tumblr (dot) com /**

**as soon as I see it, then I'll post the link here :)**

**Actually, please go to the above link (take out the dots and the spaces, doesn't allow link-posting) if you'd like to see pictures posted of my artwork, original works, and things that inspire me in general. Also random thoughts. Haha.**

**Love,**

**Pippin**

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**PS: Personal replies to questions and comments are at the end of the chapter :)**

**PPS: (DUDE. Did you know that PS stands for "post-script"? Like, post=after, script=what I wrote. Like, post production. Or post storm. Post. Script. So cool. So, two Ps is post post script. Yeah. Anywho. **

**PPPS: I've been watching the tv show LOST for the last month, and I thought I'd borrow a little structure technique: by working in flashbacks from Pippin's "real life"—er, mine, actually—to better describe the changes in the 3 years between Dr. Pepper and this story. Rather than have a giant prologue, I can sprinkle in bits of reality for further character development. Thoughts? I won't do it if no one would like it :)**

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**Special Authors Note too Important for a fourth PPPPS:**

Drinian, the captain of the Dawn Treader, gives a rousing account of their sea adventures (Chapter 2, "On Board the Dawn Treader"; page 17-18 in my copy) before Edmund and Lucy and Eustace show up. Since Pippin is landing earlier in the timeline than the Pevensies, I urge you to reread that passage: unless you want the adventures to be a surprise. I will tell you, several things that follow: tournaments, pirates, days at sea; those are all credited to Lewis's summary as told by Captain Drinian, and not my own doing. Though the dialogue and specific happenstances shall be detailed due to my creative license :P

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**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

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**Chapter two,**

**In Forests and Beaches with Nobody Else**

The suspension, in an empty circle of nothing, lasted until I thought for sure I had been forgotten entirely. I could feel something catch the back of my black tank top, as if someone was hanging me on a wall-hook to let me dry. It was darkness completely, until I spotted little will o' wisps of moonlit clouds above me, close enough to touch. They were ascending upwards—or was it me going downwards?

The clouds rose till they found a resting place, high above the rustles of treetops. I was hanging, caught on a tree branch. My elbows rested on two forks of a single split branch, cradling any sort of fall that I may have suffered. I gazed at the ground, a mere eight feet or so below, dappled in moonlight and peppermint color. There were many other trees in this clearing—a small hollow of grass, tiny bunches of small trees. Between the two, there was a hushed rhythm of ocean waves, gently eroding a beach that glittered like illustrations of the Archenland desert.

I had been smart and wore strapless, black flats, with the deceiving appearance of high-heels. I'd chosen to forget the real thing, embarrassed that'd I'd spent most of the day fearing for a sprain more than anything else. Otherwise—I shuddered to think how I'd drop gently to the ground, from a tree branch, without breaking something vital to my walking ability. My purse strap was wound about my ankle—a safety precaution I always take when I go on a ride. I always fear the purse flying from my grasping fingers and into the waiting crowds below.

"Where is a tall friend when I need one?" I muttered, pulling my elbows to my sides and sliding between the forked branches, dropping with a small shriek to the ground. I landed on my feet, pitched forward, landed on my hands and knees, and nearly got a mouthful of dirt if the momentum hadn't been slow enough. Sitting up, grinning with my ability to not meet certain death with the latest stunt, I brushed the dirt from my palms and my knees. I untangled the canvas, art-bag purse from around my leg and threw it over my shoulder.

Standing, smiling ruefully at my denim shorts and wishing I had something more modest by Narnian standards, I pulled a twig out of my hair and crept over to the space between the trees.

"Hello ocean," I greeted under my breath. "Long time no see!" Stepping through the trees, I stumbled down the knoll and into sharper sea grass. After several yards of gravel and tall grass that shimmered like a second ocean, I came upon the wide stretch of white sand.

In the distance was Cair Paravel—restored—or, almost restored. I could see that a lot of deforestation had occurred in order to make it visible from the land and sea again. Where the river had turned the peninsula into an island, a stone bridge was halfway built across it. A ferry was docked at one side, probably to aid the masons.

The castle itself was being rebuilt over the ruins—towers were shaped differently, and large canvas shipping sails were nailed down over the openings in the roof that were not finished yet. It was being built down farther, as it had been in the olden days, so that there might be a patio with doors open to the crashing waves, and a flooding room where mermaids could come in and make their requests to the king in person. At least, that's what I imagined the lower foundation was for. In fact, I bet it looked like an entirely different castle than in the Pevensie's early days, I'm sure. It's a new era.

I took off my shoes and meandered, barefoot, through the sand. I let the grit get between my toes, wiggling them for good measure, then skipped over to the waves and dipped a foot tentatively into the surf. Howling with the cold temperature, I was off like a shot in the other direction, panicking when the surf, at first, followed me with icy foam.

Panting, I smirked, and chased the wave as it receded, stomped in the shallow tide, and then shrieked and ran back again.

It wasn't until my feet were freezing that I realized how softly warm the air was. _Walden needs to take note of how to do summer right, _I thought laughingly. This temperature was charm, it was bliss; it was a gentle hug perfumed by the Lion's Mane itself. It was almost as if the music of the crickets in the trees were beating the weather into submission, bidding it to sway with gentle breezes and fine, clear nights.

"Hoy!" cried a man's voice. "Who goes there?"

My brain sought a line from the Ghost king in _Hamlet _but came up empty. _Drat._

"Indentify yourself, stranger! What brings you to the shores of the Great Cair Paravel during the last leg of its construction?"

"Hello!" I called into the light blue darkness. The moonlight was so strong that it cast great shadows, and left the tree line much too dark to see the speaker. "My name is Pippin, I am an old—acquaintance—of King Caspian the… tenth?" my memory failed for the correct number. Staying accurate to our playful, (yet mildly shallow,) relationship kept me from saying the word _friends. _

"We fought in the last war, against the Telmarines, together. I've come again for a visit!" I shouted, awkwardly drilling my right foot into the sand till it was buried. I had nothing else to do with it, after all. And my toes were still cold. I followed suit with my left foot soon after.

"Well show us yours hands, lass!"

I dropped my shoes to the ground, sticking my wet feet in them with a grimace. I stuck my palms upward, my purse still hanging around my shoulder, muttering the Green Goblin's catch phrase _I SURRENDER! _under my breath.

"And walk right this way! See the lights?"

There were a few bobbing lanterns down at the embankment of the river that cut into the land, where the half-finished bridge lay waiting with a few torches hung on its edges. The ferry wobbled on the rivers current, pulling taut at the ropes holding it steady.

I could see the vague shadow of those that spoke, two guards in royal livery and carrying crossbows, emerging out of the trees and walking to the waters edge.

"You can put your hands down, now," one of the guards chuckled. "Formalities, really."

"What did you say your name was again?" asked the second.

"Pippin. I don't suppose we'd ever met," I entered the circle of torchlight and stuck out my hand. They shook it, unsure. I suppose there was a time they once didn't have hand-shaking in Narnia. "I helped Caspian a while ago. I was around during the war, against Miraz the… usurper… am I pronouncing that right?"

They both shrugged. "I'm sure you're a nice lass," said the first, "But we can't be too sure until the King can confirm your acquaintance. Will you step down here, please?" he held out a hand and helped me down onto the small ferry, which was more of a raft than anything else. The second guard stayed on the shore, and hit a small lever, which caused a chain to begin unraveling and letting the ferry drift for the opposite shore, which was only eighty feet or so away.

The guard handed me a small blanket. "There, that will make you more presentable. Now can you tell what happened to your clothes? You were not attacked on your way to the castle, were you?" _What do you MEAN, what happened? I'm WEARING clothes! And plenty of them by Walden standards!_

"Uuuuh," I said ungracefully. "Well—where I come from—which isn't quite north, but almost. Northwest. I think. I did get a bit lost, but I was never attacked. But our fashion is certainly less polite than here. During the summer we don't… wear much." _This tank top has wide straps, doesn't show any midriff, and these shorts are definitely not Daisy Dukes. But now, I feel like a floozy!_

"Uh—I appreciate the blanket though. I'm sure you won't think me improper, will you?"

The guard shrugged. "Cultures are different. Mermaids and naiads hardly—" he coughed, embarrassed. "Cultures are different."

"Thanks. Maybe if there are some… maids… I could borrow a plain dress, perhaps, couldn't I?"

"You do not seem to have any luggage… I suppose that can be arranged. How is it that you traveled her for a visit without any luggage?"

"I have my pu—bag. This bag. It's all I have right now. I packed too lightly, I think. I didn't expect to get lost. In fact, I didn't except to come for the visit at all. It's a long story. I'll explain to the King—really, I will."

"May I check your bag, please?"

"Yes," I handed it over to him. He opened it, held it near the lantern light, and looked inside. His eyebrows furrowed. "What are all those—colored sticks?"

"Pencils. I'm an artist. I don't go anywhere without them. And that little box thing is called a cell-phone. It's a device that won't work right now, I'm sure." He held up another item. "Uh—that'd be makeup." I suddenly felt embarrassed for its presence there. He held up a few more things. "Waterbottle, ipod. Gum."

"Ipod? Gum?"

"A little teeny tiny musical instrument. And… a candy that you just chew and chew. Like taffy. You guys have taffy around here, don't you?"

"The badgers make toffee…"

"Close enough."

He handed my purse back to me. "It's the safety precautions we take, you know. We don't want someone to slip in to see the King with a weapon. I hope you do not think this was an invasion of privacy meant to offend."

"Hardly. Rules are rules."

With a jolt, the ferry suddenly bumped shallow ground and the chain stopped drawing us in. A guard on the other side, who had been controlling the chain, waved at us and offered me a hand to help me out. I tripped as I disembarked and nearly fell to my knees in the shallow water. My jeans and shoes were hating me right now—there is nothing worse than walking around in wet clothes.

The guard led me up the shore, and the ferryman sent the raft back to the other side. We clambered up to the half-finished flagstone square, connecting the first step into the bridge and the tall double-doors of Cair Paravel. I ooh'd and awe'd as he walked—I squeaked—across the unwalled entry.

The guard rapped thrice against the door.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Eight o' clock or so," he answered.

"Then it is not too late for his Majesty?"

"Not at all."

Time hadn't changed too much, I'd lost only two hours, give or take a few minutes. It didn't grow fully dark until aboutt ten in Walden, so the fireworks wouldn't have started unless it were near that time.

The great doors swung wide into the first hall; very marble and elegant in its first stages of being. There were a few fawns moving busily about, on tall ladders, hanging scarlet curtains in the corners. A few human maids were scurrying back and forth, carrying potted plants and the like. It seemed busy, but quietly so. The opportunity to be in Cair Paravel before it was finished seemed like a privilege that I did not expect.

"Tell his Highness that I bring a visitor from the Northwest, and ask if he shall see her right away," said my guard. He spoke to a fair-haired faun, who clicked his heels and hustled off to the right archway.

Before us was a great staircase, wide and curving, that nearly encircled the entire end of the room before curving to the left, and shifting up, to the floor above our heads. A dwarf sat on the lowest stair, nailing the rug with precision to keep his Royal Backside from having something hard to land on (were he ever to slip and fall).

I let out a snicker, and the guard looked at me with quizzical lifted eyebrows. I acted as if I did not see them.

Suddenly, there was a familiar face.

"Trumpkin!" I shrieked suddenly. "HEY!"

Trumpkin came out of the right archway, waddled across the entry, and went through the left archway. He was walking alongside another manservant, whom he was speaking in low tones to.

"Trumpkin!" I repeated.

He waved a hand in my direction absently, saying lightly, "The interviews MUST wait for the morning!" and continued on without a glance.

The guard looked at me questioningly. "Why did you bother the Regent?"

"He's an old friend, I knew him, back then. But he did not see me."

"The King is launching Narnia's first ship in a thousand years. All of Narnia is bursting with questions as to the nature of the voyage, he may have just mistaken you for a nosy journalist."

I frowned. "Voyage, hm? Trumpkin must be very busy, I suppose."

"Certainly. He's in charge of the kingdom while the King is absent."

Finally, the fair-haired faun returned with a polite bow. "His Majesty will grant an audience with the visitor, but cannot tarry too long. He has many things to do."

"Understood," said the guard, with a nod in my direction. "Take her to him, then. I must return to my post."

The faun waved him away cheerfully, and set off briskly. I trotted to keep up with him. "Where are your clothes?" he asked.

I sighed. "Under the blanket, Mister. I wasn't dressed appropriately for an audience with the King."

"Would you like to change before you see him?"

"I've got nothing to change into."

"Ah," the faun led me beneath the arch. "Were they stolen?"

"No, they were not," I said stiffly, not offering any more explanation.

We were now in a great dining hall; tall, chandeliered, tapestries on all four walls, and a table so long that it ran the length of the room. The floor was tiled in brown stones, more textured and warm than the marble of the entry. In the wall at the far end was a second pair of tall doors.

"Those doors are very ornate," I commented, narrowing my eyes at the thick, mahogany woodcarvings. Dwarf figures, dancing fauns, scrollwork, and letters I could not read were swirling about the edges of the door in three-dimensional craftsmanship.

"This is the entrance to the throne room," said the faun. "Now tell me your name so that I may introduce you?"

"Lady Pippin—er, Miss Pippin. I'm not that important."

The faun laughed and pushed open the heavy, creaking door.

"King Caspian the Tenth, Lord of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands!" he announced. "May I present Miss Pippin, a visitor to his Majesty!"

Caspian sat at the end of the throne room in a modest, gold-plated, throne. Great red swags of curtain hung on either side, and behind him was a stained-glass window with the figure of Aslan in the mosaic. The broad walls on either side were painted with Michelangelo-style murals of Narnia's rich history, and before them, a few rows of seats for the courtiers and visitors. A single thin, red strip of carpet ran from our feet to the foot of Caspian's dais.

Caspian, dark-haired and now bearded, looked up and squinted his eyes across the long room. "Miss Pippin? Pippin who?"

"Just Pippin," I called back, waving tentatively. I began the long trek across the room. "I don't suppose you remember me? Uh, the battle to reclaim the throne from Miraz. I was with the Pevensies."

"The High King and Queens' gardener?" cried Caspian in astonishment.

I giggled, recalling a well-placed Lord of the Rings quote that had forever established me as the professional bush-groomer.

…

"_Well, if you are the Kings and Queens of old, then who is this?"_

_"Their bodyguard?" said Trumpkin questionably, looking to me, since I had told him that on the beach._

_"Their gardener," I corrected, acting offended. I was quoting Sam in the Two-Towers simply because I could. As the Pevensies were used to my antics by now, the change in occupation did not faze them one bit. _

…

"You remembered!" I said, almost halfway through the room now.

"Yes, but—is that really you?" he suddenly looked doubtful and squinted at me.

I finally approached the bottom step and gave a crooked bow, mostly just a bend

at the waist, half-curtsy, and a partial flourish that didn't appear anything but comical. "Uh, yes. I've been gone awhile."

"It's been three years," Caspian stepped down from his thrown and offered me his hand. "How curious you should come again at this time!"

I shook his hand firmly. "I hear you are preparing for a voyage?" I knew what it was, but I wanted to make conversation and assume nothing.

"Yes, yes, here, join me," Caspian motioned for me to follow him up the stairs. He pulled a small bundle of wood strips, which unfolded like a canvas directors chair, from behind the throne and set it down. "Do sit down."

I sat gratefully, and he sat on his throne. "We are embarking on a great journey," he said excitedly. "You see, we've made a ship—a grand ship—_the Dawn Treader. _She's magnificent. Wait till you see her."

"Not to impose, but I was wondering if I could stay here for a little while," I said meekly. "I kind of—well, you know how it works, don't you? I was magically drawn from the Pevensies world, without any sort of shelter or clothes or food…"

"You mustn't even ask, of course, luckily for yourself the guest quarters were just finished. We expect many comings and goings in the next few days. We launch in two."

"How exciting," I said politely.

_I want to go I want to go I want to go I want to go—_

"You look so different," Caspian said, with an unsure smile. "You must be—nineteen, now, yes?"

"Twenty. It's been a long three years. I have a summer birthday, so the age-change is a little wonky."

"Considering you didn't run in screaming," said Caspian, "and find yourself face-to-face with the floor, I'd say those three years have treated you well."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but refrained. Instead, I replied crisply, "Why yes, your Majesty, very well indeed." I fought a smile.

Caspian was grinning. "I'm sorry, a joke at your expense. Forgive me. It will be like old times—in fact—better! Narnia is at peace, and it is a time of discovery and prosperity."

"Discovering new hobbies—like ocean travel," I added.

"The giants pay tribute to us now, we beat them in battle a while back," bragged Caspian. "You've come at a lovely time. Perfectly lovely."

"Your accent is different."

"You'd be surprised how quickly the accent of Telmar fades when all of Narnia speaks without rolling ones tongue at every R and drawing the vowels out."

"You sound British."

"What is that?"

"The four Monarchs were British originally."

"Oh I see!" Caspian folded his hands together with interest. "So tell me—what brings you here?"

"I wish I knew," I replied. "Someone from my world only comes when Narnia needs aid. Narnia doesn't really need my help—well, to be honest, Narnia never needed my help; _I _needed _Narnia_—I can't help but feel that perhaps I'm supposed to…" I paused and savored the right word. "Uh—participate?"

"Participate in what?"

I peeked at him through one eye. "The voyage?" I squeaked apologetically.

"Oh!" Caspian did sound surprised. "Really!"

"Maybe. Aslan doesn't exactly leave instructions."

"Let me think about it," Caspian put a hand to his scruffy chin and thought for a moment. "It's a fine idea. I just—I don't think we're prepared—for having a lady on board."

"Since when have I ever acted like a lady?"

"Since now," returned Caspian. "You've been very polite. It's disconcerting."

"How is it…" I stopped. "No, no, you're right."

Caspian lapsed into silence, looking at the painted walls but not seeing them.

"If it's trouble," I said hastily, "I don't want to be a bother. Really. But I wonder—why would Aslan send me here, at all, if I wasn't meant to go along? It's a thought, anyway. To be perfectly honest with you, I just _really really really _want to go, and I _hope _that's why I'm here."

"There's a bit of the Pippin I know," chuckled Caspian. He sobered. "You know it's always likely you are meant to stay behind, and be near Narnia, in case something should go wrong while I am away."

"You mean, like, help Trumpkin here?"

"Perhaps. We cannot know for certain. Though I think Trumpkin is capable without your help."

"I agree," I said emphatically.

Caspian stood up. "Let me discuss it with the Captain of the ship, and the heads of the crew. I doubt they would say no, but I am not about to make a decision that concerns all of them without their input."

"I think that is a wise choice!" I concurred.

Caspian crossed his arms over his chest. "Pippin," he said slowly.

"Yes, sir—your majesty?"

"I am curious," Caspian looked at me with a look I couldn't identify. It almost looked suspicious. "How is it that you have not asked me _where _our voyage is heading, or what it is for? Yet you clearly have the desire to join us?"

_Oh, snickerdoodles. _

"Why _wouldn't _I desire to join you for _the Dawn Treaders'_ launch?"

"You are avoiding the question."

"You're a clever one, you are."

"Go on, Pippin. Answer the question. The truth, now."

"Because I already know why you're going?" I offered in the voice of a mouse.

"How?"

"A book."

"What book?"

"A book in the Pevensies world."

Caspian nodded, and mulled over my answers. "So you know about the Seven Lords, and Reepicheep's grand dream of Aslan's country."

"I do. But not in a creepy way. Just—it's what I do. Is that okay?"

"Then you know there _is _risk involve, you are not blinded to promises of adventure," Caspian assured.

"Yes, of course! It could be dangerous. I don't even like the ocean all that much. But I think it's where I am supposed to be."

"Beyond the eastern edge of the world is uncharted, open sea," said Caspian warningly.

"You are not trying to make me promise I won't get scared, are you?" I said indignantly. "Because I will swear no such thing!"

"No, I wouldn't make you promise that, but I think your bravery is not what is at question here," Caspian said kindly.

"I will get scared, scared as a cat," I interjected.

"But your safety would be in jeopardy, and I would not willingly place a woman in that situation unless she knew full-well what she was getting herself into."

He regarded me silently, and I felt that I had nothing to say.

_Awkward pauses. I. LOVE. THEM._

"Aren't you going to plead your case?" he finally asked, laughing.

"I already did."

"You mean you won't sing something? Launch into a speech in frightening slang from your own world that I do not understand?"

I bit my lip, sorting through my mind to find something.

"I will wait for _the opportune moment,_" I said slyly.

"Good move," Caspian nodded, smiled, and looked to the ornate doors at the end of the room. "Kep!

The doors swung open again, and the fair-haired faun stood at attention.

"Kep, if you wouldn't mind, could you show Miss Pippin to a guest room? And see to it that she has—well, fresh clothes." Caspian peered down at me. "Were you robbed?"

I gritted my teeth together, self-consciously pulling the small blanket closer around my tank-top and shorts. "No. But thanks for asking."

"Fresh clothes," repeated Caspian. "She will be staying with us for a time. And after she is delivered safely, please ask Drinian and the _Treader's_ crew to meet me here, in the throne room."

"Yes of course, your Highness!" Kep bowed.

Caspian tugged my arm, and waved me from his side. "I will discuss your request with the crew. I think you shall have it your way, but do not raise your hopes—just in case."

"Thank-you, Casp—your Highness. I appreciate it. Have a lovely evening," I inclined my head in a half-bow, and proceeded to trot awkwardly back down the red rug to the other side where Kep was waiting. My soaked shoes squeaked like baby mice all the way down.

"Pippin," Caspian called after me quickly. "If you are hungry, ask for anything. Anything at all. And please dine with me in the morning, at eight o' clock sharp, if you've a mind to."

"Invitation accepted," I turned and called back. "Thank-you!" I began to follow Kep again.

"Oh, and Pippin!" Caspian called out again.

Trying not to let my eyes look frustrated, I turned again, and walked backwards. "Yes?"

"Welcome back to Narnia," Caspian clasped his hands behind his back, looking

genuinely pleased. "It's good to see you."

I blinked, baring a giant smile, trying to keep a sudden emotion from gathering in the corners of my eyes.

"You don't know how I've longed to be back here," I said quietly enough, but the words reverberated against the high-vaulted ceiling, echoing long after Kep shut the doors behind us with a resounding thud.

...

...

* * *

**Dear Reviewers, again,**

**Holy snickers and pie crusts, that's a nine-page single-spaced chapter there. That's twice as long as the essays I wrote EVERY week for my college courses. Yipes. And now, as promised, here are my personal replies to queries. Be sure to check out my tumblr site!**

**Love, Pippin**

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**Harley of Narnia: **I do hope I continue to fulfill your expectations but keep you surprised as well!

**Skywalker05: **It's good to hear from you again! I loved your criticism for my last story, so please feel free to point out grammatical errors I may have missed. But I am very glad you loved the chapter. Welcome back!

**Pureangel86: **Wow, that is quite a compliment. I am VERY flattered.

**DancinginRain: **thank-you for your review, it means a lot!

**Kz and the snazzy plotbunnies: **Wow! Your review is simply SPEWING energy and all kinds of amazingness. Thank-you! I'm glad to make someone so happy! And like I said before, haven't seen Dawn Treader yet, but I do Sunday I think :)

**Alexandraya: **Sounds like you've figured out the secret to high-heels. The closest I've come to high-heeled boots are normal cowboy boots—but, well, they're children's size, so even the heel barely makes it to two inches. Haha. And I've heard about that extra plot about the swords, and I have no intention of including it. It just sounds silly!

**Exuberantly: **Wish I could hear you, haha!

**Lady Jill Pole: **I recognize your name, I think maybe you have reviewed before. It's good to have you back, regardless! Thank-you so much for reading.

**Eden54: **I will hopefully be following the book more. Thank-you so much for your exciting review :)

**Ari Saki: **Your evil laugh worries me (quails in the corner) are you doing something wicked at my university? Haha ;)

**A y e s i s: **Thank-you very much!

**Cartoon Moomba: **I think my spring semester schedule may allow me to update more often. Perhaps once a week. (that's what I'm hoping, anywhow)

**REDROBINS007: **Hopefully following more book than movie.

** : **I dedicate this update to you. :D

**King of King's Daughter: **Take your time, but don't stay away for too long, I will miss you! :) if it helps, I don't plan on really following the movie that much. I've heard it departs from the book too much—but I will use it as a little reference here and there.

**Suuki-Aldrea: **Hopefully book, but a lot of my own creative licenses—I'll expand with many scenes, which for Lewis was only summary or a very quickly mentioned phrase left unexplored.

**Lady Courage: **I like that your review lives up to your name :) Thank-you for your well wishes, I will do my best to stay sane! (muahaha)

**Blond Pickle Mule: **I'm stubborn, one of my nicknames is Pickle, and I was born a blond baby. We're practically twins. Er—well, not really. But thank-you so much for reviewing! Can't wait to have you around for this adventure :)

**Scissorhero: **Oh, oh hey there, (cough) we haven't talked in ages (cough) I miss you (cough) AW HECK, I'm so excited you're still going to read my story. :D thanks for your VERY prompt review! See ya on the other side! ;)

**Walks-with-nose-in-book: **(inserts earplugs) you may now scream again! BUT before you do—thank-you for being the very first reviewer. You get a cyber cookie! :D

* * *

There were so many replies to write, I will not be doing that again unless you ask a specific question :) I just thought it'd be important to address everyone since it is the first post of many!

**_MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL, A VERY BLESSED NIGHT!_**


	3. At Tables with Difficult Dwarves

**Dearest Reviewers,**

**Thank-you all for your lovely reviews. My review for Dawn Treader, which I saw this evening, is at my tumblr account: **

**http : / papayapie (dot) tumblr (dot) com /**

**Just remove the spaces and replace (dot) with an actual . and all your questions about what I thought will be answered! **

**Love,**

**Pip**

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…

…

**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN **

…

…

* * *

**Chapter Three, **

**At Tables with Difficult Dwarves**

I was brought to a guest room—a_ guest _room, they called it!—that was so grand and spacious, I suspected that they'd mistakenly put me in Caspian's room.

I had followed Kep up the grand staircase, open-mouthed in awe at the paintings taller than me, until the second floor's white hallway (filled with coats-of-arms and liveries-of-old) led us to the dark door of a bedroom. Kep opened the door for me and let me inside, then bustled about the room himself—turning up the kerosene lamps, lighting the candles, opening up the balcony doors for a summer breeze, and kneeling at a hearth to start a fire.

In rapturous delight, I simply watched, squealing with delight as each light lit up a new feature of the room. The walls were papered in a light rose, the curtains were darkest emerald, and the four-poster bed was so high I needed a stepping stool. (I need a step stool for the beds in college, too. Don't judge.)

There were pictures on the wall, paintings of flowers and dancing fauns around bonfires, sketches of trees and dryads, and inked calligraphy of poems in strange languages. There was a dresser that was empty, but smelled like lavender and perfume. The vanity's mirror was in poor condition, but there was a live ivy vine growing around its' frame, giving the room a certain Rivendell look about it. There was a wardrobe, with lovely embellishments but no carvings that compared with downstairs. Inside the wardrobe, I found three dresses. They were dusty and thin, clearly having been left to the moths for far too long. One was a green, which may once have been a radiant grass color, but had faded to dismal sage. The second was ivory and lacy, dangerously transparent. The third was black, with a simple empire waistline and scooped neckline. The sleeves were three-quarter length and the fabric felt like cotton.

"I can wear this for breakfast tomorrow, yes?" I asked Kep, turning away from the hidden goodies. But Kep had gone, and he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where," I began, just as the door swung a little to allow Kep back in. He was carrying a small tray with a covered plate and two tumblers sitting on it. "Oh!" I said. "Is that for me?"

"King Caspian wishes you sweet dreams, and hopes that you don't think him rude for sending dinner up to you. He is in a meeting right now." Kep said hurriedly, as if he had much better things to do than to be playing nursery-maid.

"This is fine," I said, not entirely hungry. "I practically begged him to _have _that meeting, in a sense. What do we have here?"

Kep put the tray on a little table in front of the double-doors to the balcony, where the green curtains blew lightly in a breeze that smelled of apple blossoms.

"One tumbler is wine, the other is water. Under the plate, there is a scone, a little ham, and alternate slices of avocado and strawberries."

My eyes grew round at the mention of avocado. "I love avocado."

"Beastly stuff," Kep muttered. "I _do _hope this will keep you till morning?"

I smiled at him. "_Yes,_ it will. I'm sure you have plenty of other duties to take care of. Consider this the last time you need to worry about me. But before you go—where can I, ahem, take care of natures calling?"

Kep's kind, but annoyed, face flushed as his big doe eyes turned towards the door. "The—uh—indoor plumbing is new. It's right out of the door, another right, and a left at the second door. But do not get used to it, if you intend to get on the ship—if I eavesdropped correctly—you'll find yourself back in the chamber pot days."

I grimaced. "We'll just cross that bridge when we come to it…" then I laughed. "Eavesdropping skills, eh?"

Kep's goat-like ears flickered in awkward embarrassment, gave a polite bow, and practically fled before he had to answer any more of my questions.

Letting my laughter drift away, I settled in the chair at the table. I smelled the wine, enjoying the bready scent. Then I set it aside, drinking the water and munching a squared chunk of avocado. _I am eleven months shy of twenty-one and have never drunk a drop of alcohol—surely I can wait a little longer… unless it was rum. _

_But the rum is ALWAYS gone. _

When half of the avocado was consumed, I crept out onto the balcony and leaned on its railing, looking out into the ocean. The ocean stirred far below against the rocks, and perched on the half-finished bridge were torches that flickered like fluttering moths. The beach glistened like lavender snow in the moonlight, which was slowly rising higher. The sky—oh the sky!—was unlike any sky. Each constellation was so bright, I fancied the characters they were named after would come to life and begin a battle of meteors over the very towers of this palace.

I glanced down below, and watched the doors opening and closing for a time, while creatures of all sorts hustled back and forth to carry assortments of riches and luggage inside. Eventually, it quieted down, and droves of workers began to leave by ferry and then disappearing into the woods. As groups of fours and fives walked, they swung their lanterns merrily, telling jokes and singing ancient songs loud enough for the stars to join in. I could hear many chattering over finishing the castle soon, and how pleased they were with their hard work, and how excited they were to come again at sunrise. _They must love their work here, _I thought, _Otherwise I imagine that coming at sunrise to begin labor again would not be something they looked forward to._

I left the balcony doors open a crack, took a running start, and launched myself onto the tall bed. I had set my purse on the end of it, and now dragged it towards me, pouring out its contents on the blush-colored bedspread. First I opened my cellphone (no service naturally) and set the alarm for seven-thirty. Then I found a hair-tie and tried to braid my hair, but of no avail. In May, I had become quite taken with the rockstar haircut—the scene type you see on emos…and Joan Jett—and had gone to a hair salon and got it layered. The hair was so choppy and retro, that I may have passed for someone who played guitar in a band—not nerdy, little artsy me. It was a good look, but simply impossible to tie down. All the severed layers would simply fall out and hang, straightened and limp, around my Bambi face.

"Great," I muttered, tossing the hair-tie back in the bag. Now, I'd probably wake up resembling a moose. _Buttah VEDRY cute moose! Make all de boy mooses go WAAAH!_

I ended up following Kep's instructions to the bathroom—looking very much like a bowl installed in the floor and a wash-bin and pitcher like old pioneer films—and sticking my entire face into the basin to wash the bothersome make-up off. I didn't want to look like a made-up teenager. In Narnia, I felt there was no one to impress.

_Well, Caspian IS distinguished looking…_

I slapped myself in the face. Literally.

"Ow…" and then I continued scrubbing off the shadows of mascara, wondering why I felt the need to use the goop anyhow. "I don't need this," I said out loud. "I don't! See if I don't look better with it all off!"

After wrestling with a few eyelashes that did not want to give up their black capes of death, I looked into the mirror. My face was so pink with soap and vigorous scrubbing that I actually looked like a little piglet. But it was worth it to be wearing my own face, and my face only. Then I finally retired to the room—relieved, refreshed, and sleepy, and a four-poster bed never felt so good.

…

My phone vibrated at seven thirty sharp. Groaning like an old man, I dragged myself to the bathroom, and plunged my head into the basin. The water had grown cold by now, but it was perfect to wake myself up with. I raked my fingers through my hair, getting it soaked, and then scrunched up the strands to make it curl naturally. I almost fell asleep when I made it back to the vanity and rested my chin in my hand, contemplating my next move.

With a startled snort, I struggled out of the early-morning fog and opened the wardrobe door, jumped out of my lack of proper clothing, and slid into the black dress. The black dress was too big around the bodice. Panicking, but only for a moment, I began searching through the vanity drawers until I found a long, sky-blue ribbon. This went around, just under the chest, and tied in a bow in the back. Now, the dress had a certain Jane Austen style to it—but it _was _way too long.

"Phew," I said, tossing my cellphone into my purse. I marched over to the table by the balcony, stuck my finger into the tumbler of water, and tried to brush my teeth. You can imagine how effective that was.

By seven fifty-five, I was meandering down the great upper hall. I had to carry the skirt of the dress otherwise I tripped over its length. My shoes were still drying by the fire in my room, so I went barefoot. This time, Lucy wasn't here to track down a pair of children's dance slippers to save me.

I nearly slipped and broke my neck on the marble stairs when my heel caught on the hem, but a nice landing right on the tailbone saved me from the instant death.

With or without my dignity, I ended up in the dining hall (more or less) on time. I was startled to find a table quite full of people. There were fauns, dwarves, old men, young men, things that looked a wee bit tree-ish, a cheetah, satyrs, and one figure that looked to be almost seven feet tall—his knees barely fit beneath the table.

It was cheerful, but quietly so. Everyone spoke in low, conversational tones, without the need to laugh too loudly or shout over their food and drink. Caspian sat at its head, and when he saw me, stood up and waved me over boyishly. He was gesturing me to sit at his left side, but when everyone saw him stand, naturally they all followed suit and stood—at respectful attention—looking at me as if I was someone they needed to impress.

"Please don't get up," I choked on my huffing snickers of giddy delight at the mistaken level of importance. "Do sit down."

They looked to Caspian, only to find him chuckling just as much. He motioned for everyone to sit and resume, which they did. I dropped my fistful of skirt down, back to the floor, afraid it would be considered disrespectful to be barefoot at the table of the King.

At Caspian's left side, I sat between he and middle-aged man. The man wore a ready grin, shaggy unkept hair, clear sky-blue eyes and clothes that smelt of sea-salt. His cheeks were ruddy with windburn and his hands were leathery with work.

Across from me sat the DLF—dear little friend—Trumpkin himself. But he did not see me—he was engaged in a rapid conversation with a giant raven.

"Drinian," Caspian addressed the man I sat next to. "I'd like to introduce an old friend of mine—Pippin. She once worked with the four monarchs."

"How do you do," I said politely, about to shake his hand, just as we heard the sound of a horrible cough coming from Trumpkin's place. Trumpkin was staring at me, open-mouthed. He had choked on his wine and nearly spilt it all over.

"_PIPPIN?" _he gasped, wiping the wine from his hand onto the napkin.

"Ello, DLF," I said cheerfully. "I tried to say hello to you yesterday—but I'm afraid you mistook me for a journalist."

"Why—how did you—what, _Aslan's Mane—_what are you doing here?"

I bit my lip. "Visiting?"

"_Voyaging," _corrected Caspian.

"Oh!" I clapped my hands like Snow White. "Caspian! Er, I mean, your Majesty! Am I to go, then?" I turned to Drinian. "You don't _mind?"_

"You're to go on that blasted ship?" exclaimed Trumpkin indignantly.

"What the Lord Trumpkin _means _is, he's happy for you," Caspian interjected, smiling jovially.

Drinian was looking at me respectfully, but his eyes were doubtful. "Caspian, when we discussed this last night, I was _sure _you had said that she was young, but I did not expect…"

"She is the same age as I," Caspian said quickly. "In fact," he lowered his voice, "Older. Do not be deceived by her size—for often brave souls come in small statures."

"Here here," Trumpkin growled, "But WHY would you send the little lady off to sea? Surely this is not something you put him up to, Pip."

"It is, actually," I insisted apologetically. "I did warn him that I wished to accompany him."

"What, Narnia not good enough for yuh any longer?" Trumpkin said sarcastically.

"DLF," I said, slightly hurt. "Narnia is too good for me."

"Now, Trumpkin," Caspian interrupted, "I know this was a surprise to you—but you know magic, and Aslan, and how that works. She came here unexpectedly and wandered to our doorstep. It was immediately clear that she was meant to be here, and that we must _consider, _at least,taking her along. Why else does Aslan send sons of Adam—and daughters of Eve—to our world, if not to be there for a change, or a great adventure?"

Trumpkin grumbled into his breakfast plate.

"Trumpkin, I _am _sorry I couldn't begin this like proper friends do, but you see, it was you who ignored me last night," I tried to tease him gently. "And I hope that you are making a fuss because you just worry about me, yes?"

"Why wouldn't I worry about you?" Trumpkin declared. "You are a clumsy oaf, great in battle but terrible with self-defense—your victory is all on accident! You'd sooner lop off your own head than, say, make it out of any adventure alive."

"Trump—"

"I ain't finished yet! You'd get bored on a ship, little missy, and get cabin fever real quick. Energetic folk like you don't belong out on the sea like that. Those sailor types—no offense," he added to Drinian. ("None taken," he said drolly.) "Can only take to your singing and hollering for so long before they throw you overboard. And can you swim?"

"Why, yes, not very well, but…"

"You must be an _excellent _swimmer to live through any sea-farin'…"

"I'll give her a lesson or two," offered Caspian kindly.

"And I warrant, if there be any kind of accident or death, Pippin would mostly carry it all inside and not bother to tell _no one _if she needs a little basic human comfort!"

I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips together. I recalled a conversation, long ago, on the way to Miraz's castle.

…

_"Well, Miss Pippin here lost a good friend in battle yesterday, and she hasn't bothered to mention to her OTHER friends she feels rotten about it," Trumpkin spoke in a low voice, glancing up at me every so often as if I wasn't supposed to be listening in._

_"It's not their problem," I said uncomfortably._

_"Everyone grieves in their own way," Trufflehunter said. "Pippin is dealing with these things quietly and giving herself time to get used to all these new—er, traumas, shall we call them—while you prefer to bellow for awhile and then act as if nothing happened. I have seen you shed your fair share of tears in my day. And then afterwards, you're blooming happy."_

_"I just want to see 'er cry and get it over with, that's all," Trumpkin mumbled._

…

"What in Aslan's name are you talking about?" Caspian exclaimed, looking from me, to Trumpkin, and back again. "Did something happen the last time you were here, something I failed to be informed of?"

"Trumpkin is off his rocker," I said coolly. "Too much wine?"

"Now, hang it all," Trumpkin said angrily. "You know what I am talking about! First Shade—or wasn't it Sir Ulrich, that blasted pony you was riding in the second skirmish?"

"What the devil are you talking about?" Caspian was exasperated now.

"Trumpkin is mistaken," I said, fuming. _He's going to ruin my chances with claims about my mentality to handle the seriousness of this voyage. _"Allow me to explain. Trumpkin feels that I cannot emotionally handle the toll that this trip may have. If there was to be an accident, or some other devilry, he believes that I will become withdrawn and fail to take care of myself."

There was an awkward silence.

"Is that it?" Caspian asked Trumpkin.

"More or less," Trumpkin only looked a little sorry. "That's what she did last time she was here. All that philandering and foolish language she used was just an ol' jester persona she put on in order to make no one feel obliged that she had any feelins' at all! I'd say go _on, _sail to the end of the world, but the little lady may just hurt herself, and _I _for one am too nice a dwarf to see it happened. And any little friend of Queen Lucy's is someone I've a mind to look after—see?"

"I understand your concerns, Trumpkin," Caspian rubbed his temples tiredly. "But I think we can trust Pippin to be _honest _with us, can't we?"

"Oh yes, always," I assured pathetically. "Trumpkin, I am _not _the same person. You'll see. Just spend some time with me today, perhaps, I feel I should somehow be making amends—I am afraid that I was quite insane when I was here last. Really."

"Well, you _do _sound a little…" Trumpkin looked at me suspiciously. "Different, but—say! Are you sure you ain't under some spell or nothin'?"

"Oh Trumpkin," I said, feeling the same tiredness that overcame Caspian. I picked up a fork, and began picking at the boiled eggs that had been growing cold on the plate before me this entire time. "Keep this questioning up, and we'll have a row for sure." I only used _row _because Trufflehunter always used it. And it was practically my only chance—no one at school would take me seriously if I said it. "I've grown up a little," I said sadly. "Don't expect me to attack _you _with a series of pointed questions."

"Seems you two switched places," commented Caspian, trying to lighten the mood. "Now Trumpkin is the one whose incessant curiosity drives everyone else quite beside themselves."

Trumpkin shoved a mouthful of ham in his mouth. "Fine," he said between chewing, "Have your fun, your Highness. And you, Pippin, you go to the edge of the world. And do well, or I shall say _I told you so._"

Drinian sat back in his chair. "I find this all very remarkable," he said with a smirk. "I can't say for sure if I know what to think."

"Captain Drinian," I said, turning towards him. "You may think what you like. Doubt my valor, for there isn't much there. Doubt my mentality, I showed no respect to _anyone _when I was here last and could've been classified as disturbed. Doubt my abilities—I escaped death by pure miracle in battle, and can hardly swim—I can only float like a little duck. But for heaven's sake—don't doubt _me. _I'm not going to pretend that I'm any different than who I am. And if it isn't enough—than by all means—_leave me behind._"

"That's the spirit," Trumpkin said sarcastically from inside the wine goblet.

"I intend to," said Drinian respectfully.

"What?" Caspian cried.

"I intend to think what I like," clarified Drinian.

"Then Pippin goes with us," Caspian added.

"She does. Can she have her luggage delivered within the hour?"

"I have no luggage," I said wistfully.

Caspian motioned over Kep, who stood at ready attention. "Kep," he said, "If you can. There's got to be someone in the castle who is Pippin's size. Fetch her plenty of shirts and—trousers." He looked at me to apologize.

"I'd rather," I agreed hastily.

"And anything else she'll need for the voyage, like a bar of soap, towel—oh, you know, necessities."

"Right away, sire!" Kep looked annoyed to be running errands on my account again, but with a click of the heels, he was off obediently.

"Sorry!" I called after him, but he was already out of earshot.

"So," Drinian said in the lapse that followed. Caspian set to his food with relish, Drinian had finished, and I had eaten almost nothing. "Can you tell me a bit about yourself, Miss? Any experience on a ship?"

"I've been on a tiny fisherman's boat, once," my fork paused halfway to my mouth. "And a larger boat for—" tubing… "sightseeing. That's all."

"Know anything about the ocean, then?"

I went ahead and took a bite. Thoughtfully, and after swallowing, I said; "There will be things I remember—about whales, or pirates. Which direction the sun sets and rises. I could probably spew out pointless, useless facts about fish at random—ones that will help no one, and half are made-up, because they came from fiction and not study like I thought and hoped. I know a handful of _wonderful _sailor songs! I could sing them to you if there's a need for entertainment."

"And you were worried about honesty," Caspian chided Trumpkin. Trumpkin scoffed at him before biting into an apple with ferocity.

"And swimming," added Drinian.

"Can't seem to sink, but I can't really swim well," I said. "Sorry, let me elaborate. I cannot tread water for more than a few seconds. I can really only paddle along like a dog—not stroke. I cannot dive to save a life. If I try, I just float back up to the surface before getting anywhere. Provided there's a little calm, I just relax and let myself bob on the surface. I'm convinced that I couldn't drown if I tried!"

"I do not like this confidence," Drinian said, "If you want my honest opinion. If that is _all _you can do, then you should be scared to death of the ocean."

I winced.

Drinian let out a laugh. "You already are, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "I'm—well. I like the ocean. But I am afraid of tsunamis and sharks."

This caused hearty laughter from all three, and several others down the table, who'd been listening in by this time.

"Sharks!" guffawed Trumpkin. "Supposin' we had sharks!"

"Don't you?"

"No ones ever seen em, but why not? It's an ocean, after all."

Drinian drained his goblet. "Miss, it's dangerous. That's all there is to it. But trained, professional sea-farers have their fair share of drowning, mishaps, and accidents. There's as much danger for them as there is for you."

I listened, but I ate fervently, before I had to answer any more questions.

"But I ain't one to entangle with magic. If you were somehow dumped on this doorstep by Aslan's will, then who am I to argue with it? So long as you don't get underfoot. Rather you stay safe then get squashed on deck like jelly 'cause you didn't get out of a sailor's way."

I swallowed my last bite of egg. "You have my word on _that, _Captain."

"And no need to call me Captain."

I shook my head. "A captain deserves his title. You have no idea how hard it is for some people to remember it is there. _Captain, Captain _Ja—Drinian—you shall be."

Drinian simply chuckled and shook his head. "She's a spitfire alright, Caspian."

"Is that how you described me?" I asked Caspian accusingly.

"Yes, it seemed appropriate."

"I fear it's too kind, considering the kind of impression I must have left upon you all. I mean—Sith lords, and youtube quotes—how did you ever manage?"

They all blinked at me.

"I try to keep the slang down," I explained.

They all nodded understandingly, brightening, looking suddenly enlightened.

"But you didn't used to," Caspian replied.

"That's just it," I shrugged, "I _do _so want you all to understand me when I speak."

"We never thought you were insane, ya know," Trumpkin assured, "When ya said things we didn't understand, we just assumed you spoke in your own language. Maybe a magical one, at that. There was always some chantin' and singin' involved somehow. Surprised you didn't make Aslan's country fall down and break our own heads!"

Everyone laughed heartily, but the joke was lost on me.

"I still break out into song at inappropriate times," I admitted, suddenly wanting to… I don't know… cry for my lost ability to be a psycho.

"As do many creatures!" Caspian said, almost sounding annoyed. "For goodness _sake, _you act as if you must confess that. Don't feel as if you are being cornered, or…"

"Weighed, measured, and found wanting?" I offered. _Heath Ledger. I miss you._

"Precisely, don't feel that way," Caspian huffed. "Sometimes Trumpkin forgets himself. You seem flustered. Just—well—don't give her any difficulties!" he addressed all that were listening, which was about six other random assorted folk that were seated near us. They all nodded and assured him that I'd find no trouble with them.

I finished off my breakfast, and noticed my untouched goblet of wine had been replaced with spiced cider. "How embarrassing," I said lightly, picking up the cider. "Though someone was good enough to notice that I don't drink anything stronger than these!"

Trumpkin's dark eyes looked sorry under those bushy brows that crowned his balding head. Inside the beard, he smiled ruefully.

"Saw the wine untouched, thought you'd prefer good juice," he said kindly, and then added with zeal; "And by turtles and tournaments, _I'm _glad you're back, no matter how gruff I seem!"

...

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**Whew, what a conversation! What a weary process to recall it's details—you see, it's fine to remember what an argument was about, but to remember all the zingers? Most difficult. I may or may not have left out some particular sarcastic remarks made by Trumpkin—mostly because I wish the readers to still love him (he can be so cranky sometimes)—but also because they were such **_**good **_**comebacks, and I had to show weakness in my sarcasm. Ah well. The account is fairly accurate to the event. Caspian could correct me if he wanted—but he isn't here of course. I'm in Walden, wishing for a little late Christmas snow, and part of me almost longs for the rocking waves beneath the gilded prow of the ship beneath the waning light…**

**(cough) alas, not yet. We'll revisit this soon. **

**Thanks for reading :) If you're a lurker, DO review! I love reviews! Simply click on the drop menu at the bottom of the drop menu on the left to add me to your favorites or alert list. If you like the story and wish to know the moment it updates, alerts are like little gifts of instant-messaging combined with Owl mail service. **

**And a reminder; my tumblr account holds the review of Dawn Treader (the film) and many other things: like my photography, some art, and a lot of original fiction. **

**Until next time!**

**Pip**


	4. In Pools and Kitchens

**Dear Reviewers,**

**I know I hardly give anyone a chance to review before I post again, haha, but thanks for your reviews regardless. I can't stop **_**writing, **_**my little fingers just type type type and cannot slow down. Yipes :)**

**Personal responses to comment and queries are below, thank-you again for all your encouragement. Your excitement for this story is just contagious! It makes me even more and more stoked to write! **

**Love to all, **

**Pip**

**PS: If you haven't checked out my review for Dawn Treader yet, you can see it on my tumblr account, papayapie (dot) tumblr (dot) com**

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**Lovina Holmes: **It's good to have you on board again! Look forward to hearing from you more. And no, I don't think Caspian and Pippin are happening… after all, he meets his future Queen near the end of his voyage!

**skywalker05: **Thank-you for your notes, that was very helpful! I went back and fixed them up, taking out the bit of ferry lights and adding the simile to "fluttering like moths" which I felt worked better with the imagery of a summer evening. Don't feel obligated to be my unofficial beta reader, but feel free to point out anything that bothers you :)

**cartoon Moomba: **I'd go see the movie with you again and again if I could! And you know, I've a mind to include that black armor bit _somewhere _in this story, if not in the Dragon's treasure, then somewhere…

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**VERY IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTICE… LIFE ALTERING IMPORTANT ;)**

**PLEASE don't skip over haha.**

I am going to change my penname, just what I use for purposes to "PippinStrange" instead of Pippin Baggins. Pippin is a name in use, before and after LOTR, Baggins is most definitely Tolkien, and not belonging to me and me only. I want a little identity of my own :) So I will be changing the penname to PippinStrange.

My profile will remain: **http : / www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / u / 1075411 /**

My easy link will probably be: **www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / ~ PippinStrange**

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…

…

**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

…

…

* * *

**Chapter Four,**

**In Pools and Kitchens**

When breakfast was finished, Caspian gave thanks to Aslan for the blessing of a full table—both with food and with very good friends. He then informed us that he was proceeding to the throne room, and the days' tasks shall begin.

I was unsure as to whether I should follow, but he soon motioned with his finger for me to follow him. I trotted on after him, soon followed by a flood of all sorts of people let in through the front of the palace.

"Who are they all?" I asked, hiking up my skirt again. _I see some dryads that are barefoot. Hang it all._

"Courtiers, stewards, reporters, heralds from nearby countries, messengers from outposts in the kingdom, workers and builders, and those who simply want to wish us a good journey come tomorrow."

"It's so busy!" I commented. Caspian ascended the stairs and sat on his throne. My little fold-up chair was left there from the night previous, so I followed his example.

For some hour, I simply watched as each party was permitted to enter and speak with the King. The room was very busy with his guards, Trumpkin trotting to and fro (being his chief advisor) and many other creatures that almost seemed to be passing through just because they wanted to see the interior nearly complete.

"Sire," said talking hound dog, panting up to the throne's foot. "I've come to ask—do you want the treasures of the four monarchs to be brought on board?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely," Caspian answered.

"Even the peculiar torch?"

"Yes, yes, the torch."

"The _torch," _I interjected. "Edmund's electric torch?"

"It seemed to be the only treasure he left behind," Caspian said seriously. "It may come in handy yet."

"Very wise," I said, becoming bored. I began to tap my feet lightly on the marble, to the tune of "Super-cali-fragilistic-expiali-docious".

Kep showed up, toiling with difficulty from a medium sized trunk he held in his hands. He brought it to _my _feet, instead of Caspian's, and opened it wide. "Thought you may have a look at this, before we take it on board," said he, dancing from side to side with hurry.

"What a fine idea," I said, kneeling at the trunk. Inside was a tiny basin, pitcher, many rags, soap, a tiny tin of lip balm, five rolled up pairs of trousers, wide belts, five plain white shirts, and…

"Is that a corset?" I gasped.

Kep waved his hands wildly. "No need to ask _me! _One of the maids saw to it that _all _a lady would need at sea would be inside!"

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I unfolded two plain bodices for beneath the white shirts. They were like corsets, meant to be laced up for—support I guess—but not to give me a waist skinnier than Barbie. And for that, I was quite grateful.

"Well these won't kill me," I laughed. "But why is the trunk so heavy?"

"The maid said a young lady would be bored to death," Kep shuffled still. "She packed four or five books."

I let out a squeal and dived in, pulling the heavily-bound books from beneath the rolled trousers. "Oh I see!" I squeaked. "What a marvelous, kind, lovely maid she must be. I love books sooo much. I love books more than anything. I'd eat them if they'd keep me alive like food. Oh _boy_ oh boy oh BOY!"

Suddenly, most of the hall burst into laughter.

"I like to read!" I said in my defense, and all the laughter died down as various creatures tried to hide the fact that they were guffawing.

"And what did she pack you?" Caspian said with interest. "You know I am very fond of reading too."

"Oh yes, didn't your nurse always read tales to you?"

"Tales of ancient Narnia," said Caspian, reminiscing.

"Why, that's the very granny who helped with your trunk," Kep explained. "She has stayed on, and works in the kitchen. She is a very good cook. See, she thought that since she almost rightly raised his Majesty, that she best stick around so that she can oversee his health, she _does _care for him so." He stopped, as if he was talking too much, and bit his lip.

"Such a wonderful woman," Caspian said respectfully. "She involves herself in the most helpful ways. I'll have to go see her before we leave."

"I love her," I gushed. "And I love that she has packed me books. What a smart person. I'd like to meet her."

"She'll be at the launching, I'll invite her," said Caspian. "What books did she pack you?"

"Are you going to steal them from me?"

"Well, you can't read all at once!"

"You won't have time."

Caspian responded with mocking "Hmph!" and went back to addressing those who still waited to see him.

I examined the books and found _The Golden Age: a History of the Four Monarchs, The Sea and What Lies Underneath, Narnia's Genesis as Told By King Frank and Queen Helen: The First King and Queen of Narnia, The Eastern Sea: Collections of Wisdom and Words from the Lion, overheard and recorded from Those Who Followed Him (with contributions by the Four Monarchs) _and lastly, _Is Man a Myth? _I chuckled heartily, for the fifth title reminded me of something.

…

"This isn't fair," I said, back in my shorts and tank top from the day before.

"Life is, as the saying goes, not fair," Caspian replied.

"I meant not fair for _you, _it's—well, your lunch break!"

"We can eat afterwards. No one minds the delay."

"But…"

"Pippin," Caspian twisted his mouth into what a musician would call _stinky face, _the look of intense concentration and anger when someone has a bass, guitar, or drum solo. "I am, honestly, not accustom to being told _no_."

"Oh, right, _FINE. _You being a king, and all." I plugged my nose and launched myself off the wall and into the pool of cold, cold water.

In the instant of _OH. COLD. DEATH. ICE! _I resurfaced and gasped.

"You said—the—the—water-r-r-r—was—warm!"

"I lied."

I tread water uncomfortably, gazing around me. We were in a wide, marble room, with many live plants growing and trailing about its edges with vines and fronds. The entrance, which went up a flight of stairs to the castle's huge kitchen, was next to the make-shift throne. This throne faced the wide, open doors at the end of the room, which let in the ocean. The ocean's tide—when at it's highest—barely trickled into the basin in the floor, which was the pool for mermen and mermaids to enter and make their requests to the king—just like I'd imagined!

"What happens if the ocean r-r-r-rises?" my teeth chattered.

"The mer-people put a spell on the doors when they were installed. No water shall pass unless we mean it to."

"I didn't know the mer-people could do magic," I chattered uncontrollably.

Caspian crossed his arms over his chest. "We're here for a swimming lesson—not a cultural study."

"I can't tread water for another minute," I declared, relaxing. I floated on my back and waved my arms around gently, skimming the surface like a slow water-bug.

"Hm," said Caspian, "So when you tread water, you don't just—swim?"

"I float!"

"But what about the choppy water?" Caspian asked. "There's a wave coming in."

"Oh?" I said, when suddenly, I was crashed into by a very heavy force and plunged in dark, muted panic of black bubbles. Thinking only of a vague fear of drowning, I struggled in the clutching, smothering death grip of the water. I had my bloomin' mouth wide open with an innocent non-verbal when the army of tide decided to attack my face.

I resurfaced and instantly began coughing out the invasive, disgusting taste of ocean from the lungs.

"You alright?" Caspian asked, not really concerned.

I didn't answer. The truth was, I felt a little angry. I kept coughing till I was nearly vomiting. _Ugh. This always happens when I try to go swimming. Bleh. _

I clutched the side of the wall and kept trying to rid my mouth of the fearful taste. Caspian sighed and held out a hand, which I took with some revulsion, and pulled me onto the wall. I sat there, finally calming my lungs, but now my throat felt aflame with seaweed, salt, fish poo, and all-around bad, bad smell of droopy tide pools.

"Sorry," Caspian said shortly, handing me a towel. "I suppose I should have warned you earlier."

Another wave came in with a pleasant crash, and the surf lopped at the wall and splashed pleasantly at my feet. _Dumb, dumb water. Dumb me. _

"Pippin, the ocean doesn't give any warning," Caspian said. "And it's thrice more dangerous than—well, than this."

I shivered in my towel. "Yeah, w-w-well, swimming lessons aren't supposed to drown people, either."

Caspian sighed. "Don't fall off the ship."

"You'd have to push me off," I said, my voice giving out into that silly, hoarse sound when someone has been singing opera for far too long. (Hey, it happens, okay?)

Caspian ran a hand through his shaggy hair, thoughtfully, but with frustration, too. "I think I've failed at this point."

"Just as a swimming instructor," I said in a throaty, raspy voice. "You're still a pretty nice king."

"Pretty _nice?" _

"Decent. Nice."

His look was incredulous.

"Alright, you're grand. Let's call it a day."

"Call what?"

"Let's call the swimming lesson _over _please."

"It's over," sighed Caspian, offering me a hand. We stood up and went up the stairs to the kitchen. I left a trail of water behind me.

When the cooks, maids, and servants saw the King himself emerge from the stairs (the kitchen had been mostly empty when we passed through the first time) they all acted very surprised and suddenly the room was a henhouse.

"Your Highness, can I offer you anything?"

"Your Majesty! What an honor!"

"My King, are you here to sample the lunch menu?"

"Why, your Highness, what can we do for you?"

There were so many questions at once, that Caspian began to laugh lightly. "Have you got anything for a sore throat?"

They were all chaotic at once, till one stout woman with the jolliest of faces came forward with a teacup already steaming. The other cooks are chuckled that they hadn't been quick enough to serve him first. With a bow, the woman said, "Here you are, your Highness," and held out the tea expectantly.

"It's for her," Caspian said, pointing at me, who looked like a very miserable creature indeed. My hair dripped into my eyes and my mood was dark.

"Poor dear, you sit right here," the old woman pulled out a stool from the island in the middle. The kitchen looked very much like a grand kitchen from a mansion made in the early 1900s, converted into a museum, about forty-five minutes drive from Walden. On the end of the room was a great stove, all blackened, like a fireplace but big enough to hold racks or a cauldron—or two! The counters ran all the way around the edges, and the island in the middle held cupboards full of china and tin pots and pans hanging above it. There was a great window looking out to the ocean. On the opposite side of the room was a china blue, Victorian papered wall, where pantry doors, a door to a cellar, and a low box sat. The box was waist-high, bathtub length, and full of dirt with tiny green plants growing tall. Sitting on the stool, I accepted the tea and nodded gratefully.

"Thought it'd be some time before you visited," said the jolly old woman.

"How heartless you must think me!" Caspian held out his arms and embraced her tenderly like a boy would his favorite, fragile grandmother. "And how are you?"

"Well indeed, sire! Well indeed! Lucky that I could be hired as staff! Long have I cared for you, and I've no aim to stop anytime soon."

"If you had _not _been hired, I would have come and find you myself," Caspian smiled down at her. "I hear you've also been some help with the packing."

"Why yes! Helped that poor shy faun with necessities for a young woman."

With some effort, I swallowed and interrupted gleefully, "That was me! And I cannot thank you enough! The books threw me into such an excited—uh, tizzy—and you were so good to do it for me."

"Aha!" said the nurse, looking at me. "So this is the new traveler. I thought to myself, why, a young lady won't have a single thing to do out there except do some book learning."

"I'm sure we'll have some adventures," Caspian said hopefully.

"Don't tell me that you'll drag her around dirty villages, meeting natives or swabbing a deck," scolded the nurse. "A lady stays inside and cultivates her mind, while helping with the cooking, or entertaining those tired sailors."

"I'll remember that," I said kindly before Caspian could argue with her. "But I did want to say thank-you for the books. And I _did _so want to meet Caspian's caregiver."

"Oh, tish tosh," said the nurse, "You hush, deary, and drink your tea. I've a mind to keep you here to be a kitchen help if His Majesty _insists _on dragging you on a Voyage when you're ill. I thought I may have raised you better than that!" here she turned to Caspian and wagged a finger at him. "Fancy you, a King like yourself, thinking of the tea but not thinking of long term care."

"Oh, I'm not sick," I insisted. "My throat was just dry because I swallowed some nasty sea-water on accident." I neglected to tell the part about Caspian turning out to be the epic fail of swimming teachers.

Caspian gasped with mock hurt. "Why, nanny, you accuse me…"

"Oh hush, I suppose it doesn't matter anyhow!" the nurse put a pudgy hand to his cheek. "All grown up, you are, can't help you so much as I once did."

"On the contrary, you are a great help."

"Bah! Anyone can cook and pack a few books—you done with that tea?" ("Just," I replied.) "—well give it here, we'll get you some more." She took the cup and trotted over to a teapot, poured in more hot water, and chatted lightly as she stirred in the tiny burlap baggy of peppermint leaves. "But after Miraz sent me away, I thought, well my serving days are not quite over! I've waited 'round a few years, and behold, that big battle—then you, Caspian! Leaving in the middle of your parade to see me!"

"I heard you," I interjected. "When we passed by, I heard you talking about him."

"Fancy that!" she replied. "Well it wasn't long before I began to tell all those folks that I used to be his nurse. Miraz sent me out of the castle, see, and I just settled in town—though I hear that Miraz made it appear that he had killed me off."

Caspian sobered. "I was under the impression that he had done something horrible to you."

"Well, never fear! For Caspian finds me, and so I know that a good laddie has taken over the country. And when construction began on the ancient ruins of Cair Paravel—well! Did you think I was about to just sit in Miraz's poorly built town and do nothing?"

"Not at all," I said, entranced by her story. I wordlessly accepted the fresh cup of tea that she handed me.

"You are right!" she declared, slapping her hands together emphatically. "I marched right here and demanded a job. Saw Casp—excuse me," she curtsied, "Saw His Highness once or twice, for he is so very busy, and look at us now! Talking in the kitchen like common folks!"

"I'm common," I assured her. "I like kitchen talks. It's the best place for a talk."

"I like this girl," said the nurse, "What'd you say your name was?"

"Pippin," I smiled. "And what was yours…?"

"I'm a simple old woman. Old Maid Maberly will do it."

"Old Maid!" cried Caspian, grinning. He put his arm around her and hugged her a second time. "See if some knight doesn't fall for you yet, you devil."

"Stop your fussing," she shoved him away playfully. "You'll turn into a soft one yet. I may have raised you on fairy tales, but you are a man's man. And they aren't allowed in my kitchen!" with a glimmer in her twinkling eyes, she turned to me, whispering, "Except on very special occasions."

"I think my dear nurse is kicking us out," Caspian looked towards the door. "And I am afraid that I've got many things to do."

"Go on with you!" she flapped like a hen and shooed him out. "The little lady will follow when she is through with her tea."

"Alright, Pippin?" asked Caspian.

"Of course, go on," I laughed, my throat feeling much better. I continued sipping my tea, contentedly, and began to swing my legs. Who would think a few days ago, that I would be sitting in a Narnian kitchen with a charming old woman, and drinking peppermint tea?

"Grow your own peppermint?" I asked when Caspian disappeared.

"Take a look!" the nurse pointed at the other end of the room. "We grow all the herbs and tea-things inside that indoor bed," she said. "That was my idea! Easy access, I say, and less damage from this ridiculous ocean air."

Ah, so that's what the box was for! "Remarkable," I said. I had been hoping to use the word for hours and hadn't the chance yet.

"Isn't it, though?" the nurse was proud. "You done with that tea?"

"Just," I repeated, thanking her again as I handed it back to her. "Thank-you for your hospitality, and all your help." I pulled the towel closer around me. "I think I'd best go change before following Casp—the King—around on his duties."

"Just one thing," said the nurse lowly, "You in love with my young charge?"

The kitchen was suddenly very quiet, and with an awkward look at each other, all the busy cooks resumed talking to try and not appear as if they had been eavesdropping.

"Um…no. I don't—well, I mean I do know him, but—I don't think of him that way. He's my superior first, friend second, and thirdly, just a guy I met when we were in the same war together."

She looked at me with eyebrows lifted. "Is that so?"

"That's the truth, ma'am," I nodded desperately. "I am not a Mary Sue!"

"And what defines a Mary Sue, my dear?" the nurse chuckled, as if I was just in denial.

I leaned forward, put on my story-tellers voice (a much higher pitched version of the Movie Trailer Man) and replied, "She walks the woods, they say, smelling of strawberries. She is perfection, and with a simple wave of her hair, glitter—like the sparkles of freshly fallen snow—falls in all directions. One word will cause any man to fall at her feet and promise his hands in marriage, his soul, and all of her dreams. They search fantastical new worlds, such as Narnia, for victims. For once they have the man, all they wish for is power. If I were hankering after Caspian, I would be no better than a Mary Sue."

The nurse laughed heartily. "I don't believe in such spook stories!"

"Narnia was once only stories," I countered.

The nurse tapped the stool I sat on, and I quickly hopped off. "So you say," she concluded, "But if these _Mary Sues _do exist, than I am certainly glad you aren't one. But there ain't no harm in a little love."

"I don't give out tiny portions of love," I confided, "I give my heart or none at all. Caspian shall have my friendship, no less, and no more."

The nurse tucked my stood back under the counter, and gave my toweled shoulder a kindly pat. "I suppose that's all right, then. Now get along, and catch up with your friend. I'll be waving a red hanky at the launch—you point that out to his Majesty, will ya?"

"I will, it was a pleasure meeting you," I shook her hand with a broad grin.

"And you," Nurse grinned back. "Now go along before I sweep you out with my broom."

…

Back in my room, I ran the towel through my hair and changed back into the black dress from that morning. After breakfast, Caspian insisted that we have a quick lesson in order to subdue Trumpkin's worry, yet we all know how well _that _went.

While waiting for my (very thick) hair to dry, I put my earbuds in and turned on the ipod. Skimming down to the M of artists, I cranked up _Billie Jean_ as loud as I could stand.

"_She was more like a beauty queen, from a movie scene!"_ I sang loudly in my best Michael Jackson tenor-warble. I jumped up onto the bed and struck a pose. _"I said don't mind but what do ya mean I AM THE ONE!"_ Doing a horrible dance, I jumped off the bed and tried to do the moonwalk, but my heel caught on the edge of the rug and I nearly fell backwards. "ACK!" I screeched. Then I resumed, with awkward shuffle from side to side (no one but me would call that dancing) "Who will dance—on the floor—in the round!"

"Ahem."

"_BILLIE JEAN IS NOT MY_—hello!" in mid twirl, I stopped, hands in the air, and my feet about to launch into the crab walk.

In my open doorway (_open? REALLY now? Just my luck…_) there stood a frightened looking servant girl.

It was human—_I think._ _Are those gills?_

"I don't mean to interrupt," said the lady creature, who looked about my height. She had a wee bit of green glitter shining from the backs of her hands and from the lids of her eyes. "His Majesty's advisor, Lord Trumpkin, would like to request the pleasure of your company for a little stroll outside the castle walls."

"Uh, yeah!" I said, lowering my arms and pulling the earbuds out. The maid's eyes were wide with curiosity. "I'll, um, definitely come. Where should I meet him?"

"The main entry, at the bottom of the staircase," said the maid. "If you do not consider it impertinent… what were you, uh, doing?"

Before I could stop myself, I was speaking in a Spanish accent. "Sometimes… amiga… when you are a woman… you where stretchy pants in your room. Just for fun."

Her stare was still wide-eyed and expectant.

"Exercise," I added drolly. The first explanation, courtesy of _Nacho Libre_, didn't do the trick. "Physical exercise. Working on… flexibility. And stamina."

…

I met Trumpkin downstairs, and with his rough voice disguising his excitement to show off the premises, he led me around the perimeter and told me about Caspian's grand plans for Narnia. He asked me about how I was, and what I'd been doing for the past three years. I launched into an animated lecture of what I did in college, what I studied, and what the life in my world was like currently. He nodded throughout politely, but admitted most of it was lost on him. But I didn't care—the fact that he asked meant the world to me.

I was in the middle of trying to explain what I meant by _double-spaced essay _when Trumpkin suddenly held up a hand to stop me. With a mischievous look, he said, "Sorry, Pippin. But I think there is someone here to see you."

I followed his gaze. Waddling from the tree line—striped, soft, and pudgy—was none other than Trufflehunter.

"Hello, Pippin! Trumpkin told me you were here, I had to come say hello!" Trufflehunter waved with his clawed paw excitedly.

I froze, mouth open. "Oh! Oh my! _Trufflehunter!" _I squealed and ran right for him, dropping to my knees and enveloping him in a hug.

"There there!" Trufflehunter smiled fondly at my over-exuberance. "Why, are you crying?"

"Am not," I said, but I really was. "It's just so good to see you."

"How come I didn't get any blubberin' when you saw me?" teased Trumpkin, catching up to us.

"You argued with me instead," I laughed, wiping my eyes. "I don't—know—why I am getting emotional right now. This is so (hic!) silly."

"Three years is a long time," Trufflehunter's beady eyes softened, and his cute little snout was nothing but a smile.

Embarrassed, I wiped tears away. "Oh, first Caspian, then you, and then you," I grasped Trufflehunter's paw in my own and shook it. "You have no idea how much I've missed you all."

"Why Pippin," Trufflehunter said comfortingly, "There's no shame in a few happy tears. This is a reunion! We ought to be celebrating like this! Tears and all!"

"Say, let's go back to the palace, I've a stash of the best cranberry cordial and nut mixes this side of the Beruna," Trumpkin offered in a droll voice, obviously masking his enthusiasm with the impression that the stash wasn't there for special occasions. "That will be a real celebration!"

"By bottles and breadsticks, let's go!" I said cheerfully.

"Careful now, talk like Trumpkin once, and it'll stick with you for sure," Trufflehunter warned with his snuffly laugh.

"I want to stick around _here, _forever," I paused, looking out over the hollow where the trees thinned and merged into sandy surf. We were on the road now, the circumference of palace property, and going back to the side where the ferry was kept.

"Stay for as long as you want, Pippin," Trufflehunter urged, putting his paw in mine and giving my fingers a squeeze. "Adventures await you here, I'm _sure _of it. Perhaps you can stay when they are over."

I could only nod. I knew that would not be the case.

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**Thanks for reading, my lovely reviewers! Don't forget that I'm changing my penname soon! Please leave a review my way :)**


	5. At Launchings, or Not

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Thank-you for your lovely reviews, they make me grin like a pink elephant on parade! **

**God Bless,**

**Pippin **

**PS: And for those who missed the note; my new penname is Pippin Strange. I feel like the word "strange" accurately describes my online persona, and I wanted something a little less Tolkienish and a little more original me ;)

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**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

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**Chapter Five,**

**During Launchings… Or Not**

Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and I had sought refuge in the library of Cair Paravel. When they finally convinced my crazed, passionate squeals of delight to settle from seeing rows and rows of books—with shelves nearly twenty feet high—we sat to cracking nuts and sipping pomegranate juice. (Trumpkin and Trufflehunter had their cranberry cordial; I stubbornly refuse anything remotely alcoholic and will continue to do so until legal age). We munched and talked as old friends do, and after some discussion of what the summer festival in Walden was like, I sat in happy silence just listening to the two Narnians discourse on tradition, sea-faring, old tales, and future goals.

We had talked until dinner, and quickly joined the great feast in the dining hall. It was chaotic—we had a spot near the middle of the table, with many a creature we had never been introduced to. I ate with relish; _oh, Narnian food! _There were garlic and clove potatoes stuffed with grilled onions, flour patties wrapped around melted cheese, sweet peppers, cucumbers, and lettuce; there were large slices of ham and wild blackberries to spread over the top, clear cider, carrots boiled in cinnamon, salted salmon, breaded dumplings stuffed with fluffy white cheese, tomato sauce, herbs (like basil and parsley) and chicken. And that's only half of what I could see. I think I had one taste of everything, and then could barely stomach another bite; I was so full, despite missing lunch. Instead of joining Caspian after tea with Maberly, I'd become distracted by Trufflehunter's arrival.

When I began to finish, a faun that sat beside me began to explain his family history and would have kept me all night if Trumpkin hadn't used his Advisor powers to insist "I was needed elsewhere". Trufflehunter and I slipped away with him, after (very heartfelt) apologies to the faun, and snickered all the way back to the library.

"Will we miss anything fun?" I asked.

"Ach, no, it gets very serious after dinner," Trumpkin said. "They're making last-minute preparations on the ship, and the women-folk (the water ones, mind ya!) are decorating the dock for celebratin' the launching. Caspian will have his hands quite full. I am gona have to slip away here an' there. But we must spend this time together while you're in Narnia, Pippin. We're not voyagin' types."

We talked for hours. Long hours that stretched from the mundane to the hilarious, from sobering to wondrous, silences that lapsed into thoughtful reflection. Seconds no longer ticked as time measurements, but slivers of memories with creatures that felt like old family that I would one day lose in a shadow called _past, _and the fear of hearing _You will not return. You are too old_.

I fell asleep with my forehead on my arm, half-curled in the armchair by a roaring fireplace. Trumpkin had excused himself to see to Caspian's third bidding of the busy night, promising a quick return. Trufflehunter had let his chin fall to his fluffy breast in a doze, muttering, "Shut my eyes a moment, while I wait for him, shall I?"

And for me, I was already nodding off, and soon mumbled myself into a nap. It was nearly twelve o' clock am, and I was feeling the exhaustion from my very busy—and sleepless—summer, and the last two days of joy overload.

Before I knew it, Trumpkin was shaking me awake. "Oi," he was saying, "It's nigh two o'clock! You launch in five hours! Do sleep in your bed for the rest, I'll see to it Trufflehunter wakes you up when it is time. In the morning—wear your best! And rest easy!"

With the shuffling limp of the undead, I walked in a fog up the stairs to my bedroom. (This was after Trumpkin shook my hand to wish me "right'n proper sleep" and Trufflehunter gave me a wet, snuffly kiss on the cheek.)

I fell into the bed, without bothering to change from the dress. Spread-eagle like a falling airplane; I slumbered deep into odd dreams about inception, pirates, Vikings, coffee-makers and an asylum left unlocked. And when those dreams resolved in their unsure endings, in moments where I was sure I would wake up and be doomed to sit like an insomniac, it seemed the night sky was waking up for some magical aid.

I could feel the Narnian constellations above my head rove in their rings around this planet (for we must be on a planet, if we revolve around a sun, mustn't we?) and little voices sing from the crystallized recesses of them. The dust of pinkish clouds that drift across the galaxies' tilt seemed to flit down, down; until falling in blankets to hold close those that slept and make them peaceful.

I could feel this peace, a comfort akin to warm paws (the claws of fear, justice, and protection retracted) that enveloped my tiny niche of sleeping, so that it felt to be guarded by Aslan's hold, and there is nothing that compares to the slumber of those dwelling in that omnipresence. All the sky bows down to his mane, and lowers to our level, to coax our brains into obedient quiet. And in that quiet, anyone can feel the lion there. Though nothing could occur to me at the time—and the thoughts could only make sense when the night was over, when I try to put it into flawed human words.

I woke up with that pleasant, sensational epiphany still lingering. Aslan's presence was like a flash of lightening that had occurred before I was awake—surely it had been there, but the room retained no light but the purple spots that appear in my vision when I blink. I was sitting up already, feeling refreshed and wide-awake. It was a wakefulness that feels sharp, and raw, like waking up at four am to begin a long car trip and you've already had coffee.

But I didn't need coffee. I was already to the bathroom for a bath (in an old-fashioned tin washtub—am I weird that I loved it?) and in my room, drying my hair out, when Trufflehunter was knocking on the door.

"Pippin! Pippin!" came his kind hiss. "It's time! You awake?"

"Awake, and nearly ready," I said, trotting from the vanity to the door. I opened it a crack and poked my head out. "How much time would you say I've got? And where am I to go?"

"Anytime you're ready, it's just seven now. The ceremony begins at seven twenty, and we launch—or, YOU launch—at seven thirty. I'll wait for you here and show you the way."

"Excellent, I'll be just one more moment—do you think I can take these dresses? It ain't stealing, right?"

"Well, no, you'll just bring them back when the voyage is over," Trufflehunter said. "Won't you?"

"They will come back," I nodded, biting my lip at the thought of them coming back without _me. _

Unlike my last adventure, I remembered very nearly how all the book went. No one had wiped my memory this time—though it had been two years since I read the book, and couldn't put a finger on the finest details. But I was certain there would be no return for me—Aslan's country would be the end, and I would return home. Why should I be privileged to stay—when this would be Lucy and Edmund's last adventure?

_Edmund and Lucy._

I'd nearly forgotten about them joining us in the _Dawn Treader_.

_I won't be the only girl! And Edmund—he'd be here too! I would see them soon! _

I let out a squeal of excitement and twirled the skit of the ivory and lacy dress. I had been surprised to find that it fit around the waist perfectly once the laces were tightened, and the whalebone kept it from doing harm elsewhere. The skirt was dangerously too long (as everything is usually) but luckily someone had thought this through already. Around the bowed swags around its hem, the bows could be untied and tightened, which drew up the length about four inches or so—still too long, but completely bearable. It was not as transparent as I thought—it had built-in underclothes, a chemise and petticoat mainly. The heart-shaped neck with modest long sleeves would keep me warm in the crisp, morning sunrise…a sunrise that I did not want to miss.

I made sure I had everything in my purse, the colored pencils, various other things that the guard didn't find threatening or necessary to mention (like a sketchbook and a pair of aviators). I rolled up the black dress and the sage dress, tucked them in, and slipped on my dried flats.

Looking in the mirror, I sighed at the image. My hair was curling wildly, not like what I was used to. There was something cave-womanish about it.

_Ah well! Who bloomin' cares! I feel pretty and witty and gay!_

I gave a whispered farewell to the architecture of the room, which felt like a breathing character that remained silent but always sought to comfort and care.

Then I slipped out and joined Trufflehunter. In my hyper, early-morning chatter, I began to vent rapidly about my excitement for life on the high seas and what it felt like to be sea sick and if I should feel it. I looked forward to the shimmering grasses of island knolls, like the images of Avonlea I'd seen on Saturday TV specials.

"Where's Trumpkin?" I asked eventually.

"Somewhere about," said Trufflehunter. "We we're running into the dining hall for a moment. You grab a bite to eat on the way."

I trotted up to the table quickly and snagged an apple and a buttered biscuit. I found a beautifully ripe plum and brought it to Trufflehunter, who had eaten already, but couldn't find the self-control to refuse a luscious, succulent plum right out of Cair Paravel's fruit trees growing around the main plaza.

Together we tromped out a side entrance, through doors I didn't know existed that seemed to open right out of the paintings in Caspian's throne room. Apparently, Trumpkin told Trufflehunter that the painter was so disappointed when the dimensions were too large to go around the frame that Caspian let him go on painting, right over the doors. The apple was so tiny and the biscuit was so moist I ate the first in three bites and the second in two. _Happy breakfast that lasts .8 second… _I think my mind frowned then. _I like hearty meals, thank-you very much. _

The doors opened into another entry hall, wide and sea-foam green from the reflections of the ocean. The columns were white, and the pavement a coral sandstone. Wide open steps led down the rocky embankment, and turned into a wooden staircase (perched precariously in my opening) on the steeper sides. It led down to a large dock that stretched quite far on which a very large crowd chattered and talked. At the end of the dock was a dingy. I had been concentrating on my feet while going down the stairs, and by the time we reached the dock, I had suddenly realized I had not seen the ship itself yet. I should have looked while high on the castle exit's stairs, but now among the thick throng of people, I could see nothing but the tip of a mast some distance away. Alas, _the Treader_ would have to wait for a bit.

The sunlight was bright by now, the sun having just peaked into the dark fog of morning and making everything light up in a windy gold (but just on edges). Anything left in natural shadow still looked to be nighttime.

"Go on," said Trufflehunter. "Stand with Caspian. Right over there." I looked where he pointed, to the group of sailors, and Caspian and Drinian standing to address the crowd. Everyone in that group were ones that were leaving. _Oh, a pirate's life is a wonderful life a roamin' o'er the seas… give me a career as a buccaneer, the life of a pirate for me, Oooo—_

"Oooh, is this it?" I asked stupidly.

"Goodbyes? Yes."

I bent down and wrapped my arms around Trufflehunter, squeezing him tightly. "Thank-you for last night—and for surprising me! It was so good to see you."

"And I you! Take care of yourself, Pippin."

"I will. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"Oh, I'll do my best!" Trufflehunter chuckled. "Please pay attention to your bearings. I mean, not the ship, YOU. It'd be most terrible to hear that you've fallen overboard, or something horrid like that."

"I'll be very careful." I hugged him again. "Alright—I'm going."

Trufflehunter squeezed into the crowd and meandered his way to the front so that he could see everything. I tried to be discreet as I skirted around its edge, eyeing the edge of the dock with a suspicious, fearful glare, till I was safely hidden among the sailors that awaited Caspian's speech.

"My dearest subjects," Caspian began, when a single finger held in the air by Drinian silenced the crowd faster than a mute button. "Now begins a new era—when Narnians become sea-faring folk again. For the last three years, these brave men have traveled the seas—from the Lone Islands to Galma—to learn from the best, and become familiar with the craft. In the time of Miraz, Galmian sailors were hired to travel the ocean for us. But from now on, we will find our own destinies in the waters—and find the seven lords that Miraz banished from our shores."

A great cheer rose from many women in the back, who were older, and wore the tartans and colors of the houses from which the seven lords belonged to. (One of the sailors told me this in a hushed whisper.)

"And we received a message from a carrier bird of Galma," Caspian said with a grin, "That the Duke of Galma has planned a great festival and tournament to celebrate our voyage, so we will delay there for a week. The Duke offers his island for the occasion, AND—" he added loudly over the applause that began, "Is sending one of his fastest ships to Cair Paravel—full of books, treasures, and antiquities—they are to be given to the woodland schools, the museums, and the families they once belonged to. Galma has long kept them safe from Miraz's looting tyranny."

Another cheer overpowered the speech-making for a moment. Caspian let out a carefree laugh and held up a hand, but it still took some seconds to silence the beaming crowd.

"_The Dawn Treader_," Caspian said, a note of pride in his voice, "Is not our first ship. We've made many a rig in order to learn how she rides the wind, sails the waves, her keep and keel, her decks and lines. But she is the first—and smallest—that will embark on a journey beyond the Lone Islands. With Aslan's goodness, we may sail beyond the edge of the map."

A collective gasp of awe followed his statement. For the first time, I heard a shrill voice—one saying "Here here, sire! That's right!"—coming from somewhere near Drinian's feet. Narrowing my eyes, trying to look over a few sailors' shoulders, I could barely glimpse the plume at Reepicheep's ear and the tail that twitched restlessly. I nearly cheered with happiness at seeing him.

"As most of you know already," Caspian continued, "Trumpkin the Red Dwarf, my Royal Advisor, rules in my stead as Regent—with the advice and council of the Centaur Elders, Grandfather Faun, Lady Cherrywood, Trufflehunter the Badger, and the Mermen of Galma Bay. May your concerns and worries be light—but all your queries can be differed to him. A Giant from the North…"

There was another gasp, but this one was of fear. Caspian held up his hands to deflect their worry. "The Giant from the North frontier is friendly. He brings only their gift of tribute—expect him Midsummer's eve, and give him the courtesy you would ANY Narnian. For the giants are Narnians again, even though we had to fight them on our borders last summer. All is friendly."

Sighs of relief echoed all around.

"As for my Regent: I ask that you pay him the same respect, and love, that you would to me," Caspian said. "And by Aslan's will—we will return, with those we've once lost. Pray for us. Remember us. Light your candles and sing your merry tunes—we shall return at Summer's End. And by her grand sail…" Caspian pointed off the dock. "The voyage of _the Dawn Treader_ will be most blessed!"

The applause was thunderous in its screams and sudden shower of rice and flower petals being thrown right over our heads. Caspian began to shake hands all around with the flooding of well wishes, but the entire group was clearly making its way to the end of the dock. I followed till I had caught up with Caspian, tugging on his elbow.

"Your old nurse waves with a red hanky," I said breathlessly. "She wanted me to tell you!"

Caspian craned his neck around and looked over my head. He spotted the flash of red held high above all the creatures, and waved in return.

"PIPPIN! PIPPIN!" cried a voice. Trumpkin shoved his way through the crowd, bearing a pair of boots in his hands. "You'll need these for the voyage!" he bellowed, handing them to me. "They're old boots of mine. Trufflehunter noted yer feet weren't no bigger than mine—and that's small. So there are my ol' ones, you don't mind, do ya?"

I hugged him quickly. "Oh you are wonderful! Thank-you!" I hadn't given a second thought to footwear, and was immeasurably grateful to him for remembering such a small thing. Now my feet wouldn't freeze or stay too damp if things got stormy.

"You're going to miss yer launch," Trumpkin's voice was husky. "Go on. Don't you miss us."

"Don't miss me," I returned lightly, with a smile.

"Can't make no promises," Trumpkin urged me on. "Don't delay, now!"

I forced myself to turn away with a wave and ran to the end of the dock. Taking a sailors offered hand, I hopped into the rowboat, giving a startled "Whoa!" at the unsteady rocking. I fell promptly into my seat with a hard thud, causing Drinian to laugh at my misfortune.

"All right then, Pippin?" Caspian called from its head, giving me a nod.

"Well. And yourself, sire?" I asked, tucking Trumpkin's boots into my purse, then folding my hands and trying to look dignified. Drinian, now rowing, looking at me with raised eyebrows over his oar as if to say _You don't fool me. You're just a clown and you know it!_

I raised my eyebrows as well. _Two can play at this game Cap'n!_

"Very well. I—I can't really believe we're finally doing it." Caspian said, more to himself, than to me. "It's time to bring the men home."

Something interrupted the pure horizon. My gaze went from Caspian's interesting, yet predictable, mumble that usually accompanies important men like him. It strayed over his shoulder to the bow of _the Dawn Treader_.

"_Holy Mufasa_," I whispered under my breath. "You said this ship was small."

"It is small," said Drinian. "To the inexperienced."

I gave him a patronizing look. "So you say. There's more knowledge to me than a ship's scale."

"Mebbe it jess seems small to little ladies," laughed a sailor. Two others guffawed with him and slapped his shoulders. I shook my head with a snicker and chose to let it go, preferring instead to watch in awe as the choppy waters pushed against the oars, allowing us to come towards the side of the ship.

The Dawn Treader was everything I imagined. Oh, her wood was rough enough, and I could see the stains of tar and the blemishes from axes taking her down from her forest home, but she was everything _majestic. _The Dragon's mouth was open at her prow, the neck and wings designed as part of the stern. The mast was tall and flagged, and the great sail—burgandy, lit with a painted sun that resembled a Lion's head—snapped in a ready wind. The chain that held the anchor was still hanging somewhere down below—I looked over the side of the rowboat, and shivered a little at the depth of the water.

Soon the rowboat was bumping against the side, and the roped ladder was being swung over for us to climb up. All the sailors began hollering at me to ascend, and with a hesitating look at Caspian and Drinian (shouldn't they be first, after all?) I swung my purse round my shoulder, feigned spitting on both palms before rubbing them together (to the continued, raspy laughter of the men) and clung to the rope. I began climbing up it like a little monkey (that was always my favorite part of a play structure!) grasping the thick, wet rope with my tiny fingers and rapidly planning how my funeral might be celebrated on the ship if I were to fall and break my back.

A sailor above held out a hand, and lifted me straight up the last few strands, and set me like a toddler onto the paneled deck of Narnia's grandest ship.

The ground felt a little unsteady, like the drunken floor trick at The Enchanted Forest's _Old West Town. _

"I can get used to this!" I declared, taking a single step and immediately slipping to my knees. At the sound of ripping, like paper being torn, I paled and looked down wildly. I ripped the hem of the dress! _Does this mean I'll need to learn how to sew properly? NO! Oh please, anything to keep me from feeling domestic…_

I got up and awkwardly brushed myself off, watching the other men board the ship with much more ease than I had—and twice as fast, too. _Man, I thought I was really good at that! I guess I am just as long as there is no comparison I'll look good at anything. _Pfft_._

Overhead, the sail cast a shadow away from the sun, laying a curtain of shade over the poop deck (that's the higher deck where the helm—you know, steering wheel—sits, just over the captain's sleeping quarters.) The tail of the ship—which was really, literally, a carved dragon's tail—curved and twisted and ended in a short spike.

"Good lord," said Caspian's voice suddenly.

I whirled from my awestruck, open-mouthed reverie and found him looking at me. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Where are we to put you?" Caspian said.

A bunch of sailors started laughing and began to make promises that their level of the ship wouldn't be a place a lady would like to sleep (probably because we'll be fed beans and rice for the next few months, likely as not.)

"Caspi—I mean, Your Highness," I said quickly. "Can I exchange a word with you? In private?" I waddled like a penguin towards the nose of a ship, stopping at the base of the tiny stairwell that led up to the Dragon's mouth. Caspian followed.

"I'm not going to be the only girl on this ship," I said hesitantly, not really bothering to think carefully about revealing plot lines. If Lucy was showing up anyhow, what was the big deal after all?

"Excuse me?" Caspian blanched.

"See—uh—well—" I grimaced. "There's some… well, remember when the Pevensies came before…?"

"Don't tell me that Narnia is in danger so that they must come again!" Caspian cried, astonished. He gazed past my head, back towards the shore, with worry wrinkles taking over his face. "I finally thought it was time!"

"It is," I insisted. "It's just—remember how I told you I knew what the voyage's goal was? Because I read a book?"

"Yes, of course, but," Caspian's eyes grew round. "I thought it was informational. Just—simple things. Are you telling me that this book can tell the future?"

"No," I assured. "It's more of a…" _Son of a Beesting, I HATE lying! _"It's more of a chronological list. No details."

_This deck should open up right now and swallow me. And deliver me to serve as a cabin boy to Silver below. I deserve no better. I should peel apples and potatoes in a ship's belly for the rest of my life. _

"But it does mention," I continued, "Possibly… Edmund and Lucy… well, sort of coming back. To help you out—here. On the ship." I winced. "I didn't want to reveal anything I wasn't supposed to—you know. Mess with Aslan's ultimate plan for someone's life. You know what I mean?"

Caspian looked at me doubtfully. "I do not question that you had good intentions. Whether or not this is good news will have to be determined later." At my desperate, shameful look of an abandoned puppy, he added, "I don't blame you."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just that, there will be two girls here. On board. We could probably take two hammocks. Somewhere in the back of everything."

"Nonsense! You and Lucy will have my quarters—whenever she gets here. Will they be in Galma?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "I don't have the book memorized or anything. I shouldn't think it would be for a long, long time now. And they swim."

Caspian began to question me further, when Drinian trotted towards us. "Hate to break up your lovely chat," he said sarcastically, "But we've got a ship to launch, remember?" _This guy reminds me of the funny sarcastic guy with the huge machine gun in that one war movie with that one famous actor… uh…_

"Oh, yes," Caspian cried, laughing at the distraction of details. "Captain. If you please."

Drinian showed his pearly whites like a man finally reunited with his true love and dashed towards the poop deck, clambering up and gripping the helm with determined hands. "ALRIGHT MEN! HEAVE TO!" he commanded in a rich, tyrannical-sounding voice. "DRAW ANCHOR! LET OUT TO FULL SAIL! WITHDRAW THE OARS! HOIST THE DIHNGY TO DECK! FASTEN ALL ROPES!"

"We'd best get out of the way," Caspian said to me. "This is pure sea man's work. Reep—Reep? Where'd you go?"

"My King! I watch through the Dragon's mouth!" replied a shrill voice from above. "Suppose you follow and wave to your subjects from here!"

Caspian went up the steep steps, and I gingerly followed. I laughed at the small coop stashed beneath them, between the stairs and the door to (I believe it's the galley—a kitchen) with eight chickens clucking in their clattering cacophony.

"'Ello, tweeties," I said down to them, climbing up to the tiny stern's deck hidden behind the great wings of the dragon. Caspian jumped onto a bench and looked over the side, and began waving a glove towards the direction of the dock.

A great, wild applause arose. The clanging anchor was drawn into its hole, and with a great heave, the wind pressed into the mighty sail. With a little creaking groan to its mast and edges, _the Dawn Treader _threw herself into the current that began rocking us right out of the bay.

A few exploding firecrackers were heard from shore, and the shouts of the people continued long after it was inhumanly possible to hear them. Drinian broke a bottle of wine, with a dagger straight over it's mouthpiece, and shared it with all the men.

Reepicheep came out of the Dragon's mouth, and with a bow, told me that it was about time I'd returned—and if I'd be up for a spar this time—even if I _am _a lady.

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**That's nine pages, single spaced. You know I love you all—right? **

**Like I really do. Seriously. **

**So, love me back, and leave a review! HA! You probably knew that was coming, right? Anywho, don't be shy, get… spry! Er, don't be poo, and leave a review! (it's a stretch. But what the hey!)**


	6. When Pippin meets Unmentioned Characters

**Dear Reviewers,**

**There's been quite a lot of reviews mentioning how mature Pippin seems. Some mentioning that they miss the craziness. Well don't worry… I'm sure we'll see some hyper activity soon. And plus, whatever weirdness you miss about Pippin sticks around in my… mental monologues… and from there, you'll find there's just a little more self-control about blurting inappropriate things out. **

**But don't worry. That's all I'll say for now. Doooon't yoooou worry…**

**(waves creepily and crawls into a box… starts to shut the lid, but just far enough so you can see me wink, and then the lid shuts. Cue music.)**

**Pippin

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**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

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**Chapter Six,**

**When Pippin meets Unmentioned Characters Aboard the **_**Dawn Treader**_

Like I'd always wanted to do, I clambered onto a bench, gripped the rope ladder (latched to the railing and leading up to the crow's nest) and tentatively stood on the railing and held on tight. From this view, I could stand with nothing but choppy waves before me and wide, blue-brimmed sky opening wide above me.

Funny how, growing up in Oregon with evergreen forests, plains of whistling grasses, orchards of pine and hazelnut, and low mountain ranges (that Californians mock us for when we refer to them as 'mountains'); the sky had always felt like a bowl, tipped over, and painted from the inside a marvelous aqua. Like we were tiny little ants maneuvering a snow-globe (despite rarely getting snow in Walden) whose _globe _was not translucent.

But on the ocean, the sky feels different. It feels too high to be an upturned bowl, and flat, like paper. The sky and the sea meeting in horizon's line almost feels like an oxymoron, because one can't fathom when—or where—the sky lowers itself far enough to touch the waters. The tiny puffs of white clouds were too scattered by the high winds to provide any sense of depth. It almost felt like the big, wide emptiness of a board game with no pieces—it didn't really feel like we were moving _forward, _because there was nothing in foresight to compare speed or size with. Only the canvas of the breathing sail, looking as if to try and breach its bonds keeping it prisoner to the mast, seemed to give us any indication that there was movement.

I felt a recognizable burn in my skin. A sudden heating of the nose and cheeks, and an itch that seemed to spread across my hands, arms, and face. "Oi," I said, gingerly hopping down from the railing and looking to a sailor nearby. He eyed me, rather critically.

"I am getting sunburned," I said, matter-of-factly. "I can feel it. Does my face look pink?"

"Well, Freckles, you got a buncha orange spots jumping out all over."

I squnched up my nose. "I'm used to _that. _Trust me. It's a strange wonder that I was not born a red-head—I've got the same skin type."

The sailor pulled something out of his pocket. "Here, try this." He handed me a tiny tin container. I pulled off the lid, and it looked like sticky glue. I couldn't tell if it was mustard yellow or puke gold colors.

"What's this?" I said suspiciously.

"Lip balm," he replied. "But you put it all over yer face. Protects the whole thing. Got no need for it myself though." He laughed. And when he did, his leathery face crinkled up in sun-tanned wrinkles, betraying lots of time spent outdoors in harsh weather.

"Thanks," I said, looking down at it. "You aren't just pulling my leg, are you? Wool over my eyes? Playing trick because I am _very _gullible?"

He shook his head. "Not a reason why I should. I'm no pirate."

"Just checking. Haha. Thanks!" _Darn. Not a pirate. _"I guess I'd better change, too. Dresses aren't meant for high seas. Right?"

"Course!"

"What's your name, sir?" I asked.

"Jekyll. And you?"

"Pippin!" I shook his hand. "Remind me to tell you a story about someone named Jekyll."

"Not one of me brothers, is it?" asked Jekyll, pulling a pipe from his worn jacket. He scratched a match against the railing and hoisted it to his mouth, puffing happily. "There was four of us, ya know. I'm the only sea-faring kind. Lived in a little cove all alone near the ruins while Miraz was in power, ya know. The rest of em joined up with Telmarines."

"Oh, no. No relation," I explained. "It's a horrible tale of a man called Dr. Jekyll—who was—_insane_." I had read _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde _in high-school, and overtly fell passionately in love with the novel… but I couldn't remember the details of the plot to save my life. "It's a dark, chilling story. Not for the faint of heart!"

"Ha!" Jekyll removed his pipe to wag his finger at me. "You're a story-teller, ain'tchya? You're going to be our little minstrel, huh?"

I thought about it. "Yup. That's my lot in life."

"Your lot? Our gain! Sailing nights are long, and while we may rest easy for a month in familiar waters, there's _good _times around the torchlight on deck to be had. We tellin' tales and singin' songs… ever done that?"

_Does camping count?_

"Yes, I believe so. I think I've got a plethora of subject material. Don't ever hesitate to ask," I grinned. "You know there's a song about a woman called _Harpoon Hannah… _betchya haven't heard that one?"

"You aren't from Narnia, are ya?" Jekyll gave me a suspicious, one eye-brow up stare over his wreath of smoke. The question was so sudden that I stammered a second.

"Well—oh, me? Um. No. I'm visiting."

"Here's the dish, Pippin," Jekyll's crooked mouth, spewing words like a cross between Sean Connery and Clarence the Angel, "I've heard every sea-song and tale of the sea from the Lone Islands to the western lands of Narnia where _Ocean _is a fantasy term. Just because I'm that typa guy. I know this here sea-stuff. If you've got some new material, you must be from a _LONG _ways away!"

"I am very far from home," I agreed after a moment's pause. "But not really sure where home is in relation to _here. _Don't even think I could tell you where I was from if you asked."

"Wall, that's alright. No need. Looking forward to yer performance tonight."

"Performance?" my voice cracked from my usual level to a higher strain. _Wow. Puberty fail. _(here, my mind squeaked to a halt and rewound) _Wait—puberty fail? Ha! Tomboy mode must have been turned on. So, my voice cracked. What of it? I'm not a dude. There is no failure of puberty. My voice is SUPPOSED to be higher._

_Snap OUT of it, Pippin! Moving on!_

"Performance!" Jekyll repeated. "Flanagan is on for fiddling. He's got an ancient Narnian ballad that dem Tree Women taught 'em. And then he's got an original _comp-o-sition _for His Majesty. I myself am gona play my lute. Reep, that mouse, has got some kinda poem recitation. And YOU…"

"And me," I added. "Can't I go tomorrow night?"

"Nah, we reach Galma tomorrow by noon! We wana hear ya tonight. What'll it be? A song, or that _other _Jekyll?" He said "other Jekyll" with a tone of disgust—as if carrying the bitterness of being on the opposite side of the war with his brothers—in the consonants and vowels of the name.

"A song," I said quickly. "I'm not used to performing seriously though, most of my singing is spontaneous and outrageous."

"What can I do for ya?"

"For starters, you could pretend you've heard the song before," I laughed nervously.

"What song do ya wana sing?"

My mind went blank. I couldn't possibly sing _Whale of a Tale, _the subject material was almost too crude and superficial for noble Narnians on a quest. I needed something more… ballad-like.

_What would Scissorhero do? _I thought, wishing she could hear pleading brain-waves from alternate universes. _Now would be a REALLY good time for some kind of weird "Unhappening" to occur and send me some advice in the form of a pair of scissors. She'd probably say, "Why Pippin, sing whatever you want," and I'd say, "HELP!" and she's say, "How about something old-fashioned?" and I'd say, "Like a folk song?" and she'd say, "Like Amazing Grace or something," and my mind would launch into the genre database… Old, powerful, sad, yet hopeful… maybe lonely. Romantic. Something that sounds old but isn't THAT old. Like…_

"Oh," I said, waving my hand as if I'd been planning this for ages. "I'll sing a sad ol' love song. About dancing. It's called _When you taught me how to dance. _I may have to fudge—er, improvise—a few lines I don't know. Savvy?"

Jekyll gave me a confused glance, laughing outright at my language. "I'll be wipin' away my tears with a hanky, I promise."

"You're a brick," I replied in my best Peter Pevensie voice.

"I've got a good mason," Jekyll jerked his chin towards the sky, winked, and left me alone at the railing.

_Well, this is a fine pickle we've landed ourselves in, Miss Pippin, an' no mistake._

"Thanks scissors!" I said to myself. I imagined the sky booming "YOUR WELCOME!" and making everyone cower. Fighting a giggle, I went in search of Caspian's cabin, where I would be staying for the next several days… or months.

…

The cabin was too fancy. I felt horrible inside of it, knowing it was made for the king, and that Lucy and I would be stealing it. I mean—I suppose it wouldn't matter if Lucy were here first. But it was just me, and I'm nothing short of a commoner.

I pulled the trunk out from behind the little bed, docked in the side of the wall with shelves (protected by doors) all 'round, and dragged it close to the tiny fireplace with an iron grill over it to keep logs from rolling out. The ship began rocking mightily, and I could tell we'd hit a stronger wind. Looking out through the round windows on the port—or was it starboard?—side, the spray from the waves seemed to disappear behind us as quickly as they splashed against the prow. I opened up the trunk and put the wadded up dress inside, replacing it with blue pants (wool, I imagined) and one of the white shirts. Both were too big, naturally. I dug through the trunk a bit more, finding more things at the bottom. I added one of belts, a red one, 'round my waist and tied it off, put on a pair of stockings, and then slipped on Trumpkin's old boots.

"I look so hardcore," I said mockingly to myself. I went over to the looking glass and gazed solemnly, shaking my head with disbelief. _I'm in Caspian's cabin right now. On the Dawn Treader. On the Narnian sea. In another world. Heading to certain death. ALLL RIIIGHT. _Distracted by a glint of light, I turned and looked at round, gold plate hanging over the fireplace. It was engraved with the likeness of Aslan, and the sight of it caused a shiver to course down my spine. I reached forward and drew one finger through the cross-hatches that created the mane, and said softly, "What am I doing here?"

"Pippin?" Caspian's voice suddenly erupted on the other side of the door.

"Yes?" I cried, startled, jerking my arm back. "Yes, sorry, come in!"

The door creaked open a crack, then swung open completely from the force of the ship rocking in one direction. I steadied myself against the mantle, digging my heel into the ground and hoping I didn't tip over backwards.

"How do you fare?" Caspian asked, peering in. His hair was looking a little windblown. "Are you feeling sea sick at all?"

I paused and contemplated my rollicking sense of balance. "Not yet."

"If you've changed and made yourself at home, feel free to go to the galley. Cook served up an early lunch, knowing we ate very little—or none at all—quite early."

I found myself distracted by his beard. "Yeah. Um—where is the galley?"

"If you want to go now, you can just come with me."

"Perfect," I said, risking the chance of falling by letting go of the mantle. Luckily for me the whole ship tipped back the other way, sending me sliding across the floor towards the door. Then the door slipped from Caspian's hand and slammed shut, sending me in an awkward pile against it—like throwing mash potatoes up against the wall.

I let out a frustrated screech, put my hand to my red nose, and pulled open the door again.

Caspian was in a frozen grimace and held out a hand. "No harm?"

I sighed and patted his hand lightly, politely refusing to take it. "The choppy waves are running short on _charm,_" I replied, shutting the door firmly behind me.

The Princess Bride rhyme was lost on him, he merely agreed whole-heartedly and offered me his arm, which I _did _take, and trotted beside him out onto the main deck.

"You know Miss Pippin is going to sing for us tonight," called a voice from high above. Caspian and I looked up, and Jekyll was looking down from the crows nest.

"Is that so?" said Caspian.

"Aye," said another sailor, who stood behind us on the poop deck, that I hadn't been introduced to yet. "Somethin' sad, make us cry, eh?"

"Anything makes him cry," said Drinian lightly, who was seated near our left, looking over a chart. I finally realized who he reminded me of—Doctor House. He almost looked like him, just younger (and brown-bearded, naturally.) But the voice was the exact same, only more cheerful.

"What song?" Caspian asked with interest.

"It's about dancing," I said shyly. "I've half a mind to cancel."

"But why?"

"I don't perform _seriously_. Consider me, in my circle of friends and family, merely a jester."

Caspian nodded. "I can certainly see _that. _Not many other employments allow the freedom of slang and singing that you so often put to use on your last visit."

"You can tell us jokes, then!" added the unknown sailor. "That's really all a jester is good for, ain't it?"

"Mind your tongue," snapped Jekyll. "What a foolish thing to think, much less say out loud."

"You see, sir," I detached myself from Caspian and turned to look up at the sailor. "A jester's chief employment is to kill himself for your enjoyment. But an unemployed jester is nobody's fool. As I am currently unemployed, I'll tell jokes when I see fit, and I'm worth just as much as the next man, even if I'm useless." I grinned, faked a curtsy, and took Caspian's arm again.

"Brilliant," laughed Caspian, ignoring the sounds of Jekyll hooting at the other sailor's expense.

"Can't take much credit," I responded, "Those were the word's of a jester _song _from a famous comedian named Danny Kaye. And I'm not really a jester anyway. Twas a figure of speech—slang, again, I guess."

"Hm," Caspian said thoughtfully, opening a door into the wall before the head of the ship, right next to the chicken coop. We ducked into it's dark opening and was greeted with a delicious smell. A few small benches and tables were bolted to the floor, and all around the rim of the room, were counters and cupboards, barred fireplaces, washbasins, fenced shelves, and a big stove. It was a small-ish version of the galley in _Treasure Planet, _which almost made me expect a cyborg cook.

"Your Majesty!" greeted a portly cook in a giant apron, bowing humbly and wiping a ladle off. "Come for some lunch, you have?" His accent showed his Telmarine heritage, but his boisterous personality just made me think of Smee.

"Yes, thank-you," Caspian said. We walked over to a table and sat across from each other. His legs stretched beneath _my _benched seat, and my feet swung above the floor. The cook began to chatter happily about his kitchen, how it was made fit to suit his cooking habits, how many eggs the chickens will produce, how the smoke of the chimney was blown far before the ship (unlike a steam-ship, where the smoke would be blown back and choke those on higher decks) and lastly, the amazing spices that he had added to our stew. When the bowl was placed before me, I could only taste half of what he spoke of before my tongue felt burnt and numb.

Caspian and I mostly listened to the cook's chatter, which grew repetitive and louder as more and more sailors piled in to fetch their lunch. One of them was a faun, and he must have sniffed his stew for a full ten minutes before finding the courage to try it. I snickered loudly when he finally did, froze, chewed carefully, and then broke out into a satisfied smile. It was like watching an infomercial for something that makes your kids _want _to eat their veggies.

Eventually Caspian had to go for his turn at the helm, and I polished off the stew—I'm sure it was beef, mushroom broth, and potato chunks—and sat around and waited till most of the sailors were gone. Hoping to make myself useful, and I began collecting the empty bowls and tin spoons around the tables.

"What are ye doing?" asked the cook, who had already begun to boil a bucket of sea water to lessen the salt content.

"Helping?" I asked hopefully. "Ain't got much else to do." _Blast it, why do I always pick up 'ain't' from people?_

"You are not my helper, are you?" the cook questioned. "Because no one told me about a new one..."

"Well, no, but I thought I'd help with the dishes. Unless Casp—I mean, the King—needs me for something. Which I doubt."

"Ah! Well! More the merrier, than," the cook reached out his hands. "I'll take those bowls. You can wipe down the tables."

I picked up the rag he inclined his head towards, dumped it in the bucket for a second, and began to wipe down the raw, grainy wood planks that made the table surface.

"And who may I have the pleasure of cleaning a kitchen with?" asked the cook.

"Pippin. You?"

"Call me Tusk. I am Miroz Edwardian Tusk—ship's cook and apothecary. What brings you aboard the Dawn Treader, Miss Pippin? One of those seven lords your father or something?"

"No, I came to Narnia on accident. It's a long story—I kind of got lost. In the woods. Since Caspian—er, the King—is an old friend, he graciously allowed me to come along. I'm not sure how to get home exactly, so perhaps I'll find some answers."

"Not only that, how about Aslan's country? Mythical place, I think. Seeing Aslan for the first time—in the city, Miraz's city, you know—makes me think he's just a little too real for such a place."

"I saw Aslan then too," I said excitedly, wringing out some extra water and starting on the third table-top. "That's how I got home the first time. He helped me."

"What!" Tusk slammed a plate in the bucket. "Well, how about _that! _I was watching that whole spectacle. I had half a mind to join Prunaprismia herself. You were that little fellow that was with the Old Monarchs, weren't you?"

"Yeah! That was me!"

"It's been killing me, I tell you," laughed Tusk. "Where the devil did you go after disappearing between the trees? It's been boggling my mind like comets boggle an astrologer."

"Well, I found myself in my country, it was magic," I said simply. "It took me back home." _Never mind about the train station. That wouldn't make sense to him._

"So how'd you end up with the Old Monarchs, anyhow?" Tusk asked, scrubbing vigorously at a dish and shaking his head with disbelief. "It's all so bewildering."

"Well, there was a little too much magic, in a library," I sighed, finished the table and joining him at the washbasin. "It set me right up with them. I guess it was weird, because we were strangers. I didn't treat them like Monarchs. But I really should have."

"Disrespectful little pixie, eh?" Tusk took my rag and handed me a dry one, nodding at the plates that needed to be dried. "It's alright. Most folks grow up eventually."

"Did you meet Aslan, face to face?" I asked, beginning on the stack.

"Slightly. Pretty close. I'm thinking his country will not be another island; more inaccessible, maybe in another world—where the Old Monarchs live, perhaps. Something bigger than something we can just _sail _to."

"I think I agree," I concluded. "Where do these go?"

"Oh, that cupboard, down there. Make sure it's fastened tight. These tin plates don't break, but it's a mess if we loll about and they get tossed right and left. So you know I was supposed to get a reliable cabin boy, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all day."

"Did he miss the launching?" I laughed nervously.

"Oh, naw, he's been sick. Stuck him in a hammock right down here, he's been down there since several hours before dawn-when us basic crew were allowed aboard to make preparations for the launching." Tusk pointed with his booted foot over at a trapdoor in the floor. "That goes down to the lowest deck—where we'd row if we ended up windless. Been down there yet?"

"Nope, I haven't."

"Since he hasn't been up here yet, I can assume he's feeling real poorly. Want to check him for me? Just pull up the trapdoor and go down the ladder. Or if you're too proper for ladders, go out to the stair case by the mast that goes down to the same deck."

"I think I can handle a ladder," I said, gulping. _Or NOT, you liar. _"Should I take something down for him?"

Tusk handed me a slice of thick bread. "That should keep him alive."

I laughed and went over to the trapdoor, but couldn't lift it. Tusk chided me on weak arms in a teasing tone, and then lifted it for me. The door had to have been three inches thick of solid, heavy wood. _Weak arms, indeed! I'm the friend who gets all the soda caps and jar lids for my friends! _

I tucked the slice of bread in my sleeve, grasped the rung nervously, and swung down into the dark hole.

"Oh, dear, baby Jesus, please don't let me break my elbows and ankles," I pleaded quietly, descending and finally reaching the floor. There were two or three sailors sound asleep, and snoring (they were the ones with a night look-out shift; Drinian had mentioned it at some point) and one boy that seemed the color of lima beans.

"I brought you some bread," I whispered apologetically, pulling it out of my sleeve and sneaking over to his hammock, which hung just at my face's level.

"Thanks," he groaned and took it, setting it on his lap, and not making any move of eating it.

"Can I get you anything else?" I said. "You look pathetic."

The boy glowered at me. I'd put him at sixteen, or seventeen. Edmund's age I should think. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "You don't look so _good _yourself."

"Well, it smells like vomit down here," I said matter-of-factly.

"The sea doesn't bother me," he said defensively.

"Oh, I can see that," I said, my sympathetic voice fading into gentle sarcasm.

"It doesn't. I've been a fisherman my whole life. It's a bit of influenza, that's all."

"I didn't know you could get influenza in Narnia," I said dumbly. _For that matter, how did it even get the same name? I guess the human monarchs passed down knowledge of sicknesses in Britain as well as other things._

"We're not IN Narnia, are we?" said the boy.

"Not anymore," I agreed. "Eat the bread. Bread absorbs the acid in your stomach and makes the nausea go down. I'll go get you some water. I don't suppose Tusk has any peppermint leaves up there, does he?"

"Are you replacing me as the apothecary's assistant?" the boy said suddenly, frowning heavily.

"No. I'm just trying to help you feel better. And I helped Tusk with some dishes. Trust me, you'll have your job when you get out of the hammock."

"I don't like being beat out by girls," said the boy.

"I'm not lying in a hammock with a green face," I said lightly, picking up the bread and holding an inch from his lips. "Eat. The. Bread."

He took it without much relish. "Fine."

"Fine." I whirled to leave.

"And thanks."

"Your welcome!" I called over my shoulder, expecting the cliché pause, and not even bothering to turn around and deliver the cliché, dramatic _You're welcome _with a radiant smile and leaving him with a sense of WHO IS THAT GIRL?

_Gosh, I love what TV does to my thought process._

I reported to Tusk, and with a sympathetic _tsk tsk, _he gave me a tumbler of water for him and asked me to make sure whether or not he had a fever. I went down the stairs below the mast this time—not wanting to take any chances and spill fresh water—and went over to the boy's hammock.

"Alright, Doctor Pippin is in the house," I greeted energetically.

He moaned and rolled his eyes. "I thought you said you weren't replacing me."

"It's called humor. Cheer up. I brought you water." I handed him the tumbler and he drank without much zest. I grabbed one of the posts that the hammock was tied to, hoisted myself up to his level (he was much higher now that he was sitting up) and stuck the back of my hand on his forehead. He must have been feeling very ill, because he didn't even protest or make eye-contact.

"You're like a dragon victim," I declared. "Burning right up."

"That's bad," he mumbled.

"Only if it goes for too long," I corrected. "A fever fights infection. But if the fever gets too high, then it may hurt you. It's best to let you have it for a little while."

"_Are _you a doctor?" he asked, his big hazel eyes looking like the gaze of a hurt dog. Not a puny dog, but more like a German shepherd. The big scary kinds.

"Nope, I just come from an advanced country," I snickered. "Don't think I'm showing off." I hopped down. "You still have your job."

"Ugh… you can have it!" the boy lay back down, tucking the tumbler in the crook of his elbow.

"I don't want it," I said seriously. There was a short silence. "What's your name?"

"Aemon Aethurus, son of Clive Aethurus, fisherman and lore man. You?"

"Uh—Pippin. Michael. Pippin Michael, daughter of—uh—Pheona-lus—and Charles-us—rock-stars who _almost _made it big."

"You just made that up," Aemon accused.

"Most of it. But they _did _almost make it big! Just call me Pippin, it's simple."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"I don't believe it!" Aemon exclaimed.

I scoffed. "Well how old are YOU? Fifteen?"

"Nineteen," he snapped. We glared at each other.

"Would you two dwarves hush your mouths," hissed one of the sailors. We hadn't even noticed that the snoring had ceased. "I got a long night-watch tonight. Both of you look like infants! Now get _over _it!"

Aemon suddenly gave me a toothy grin in his green-hued face, and I found myself smiling back. It was a sweet face, once it smiled. With a frown, it looked simply ghastly, but a smile gave him the jovial features of a young man with brown hair and a kind, friendly heart in there somewhere.

Without a word, I nodded and tiptoed out of the lower deck, leaving him to his sad misery and the sailors to their nap. I looked over my shoulder, and Aemon was waving forlornly. I waved back and felt as if I'd just discovered my new best friend.

_Hope Edmund doesn't mind…_

…

…

**Thanks to Scissorhero for advising me on song choice.**

**School is super busy. This is being posted the weekend after my first school-week back, and it is so outrageously busy that I cannot imagine posting anymore than once a week (most likely Sundays? Just an estimate) or bi-weekly. I'm taking Literary Criticism and I can already tell that the class is going to be a real butt-kicker. **

**Anywho, realistically, you'll probably hear from me in another week or so. LOVE TO ALL! (review. Review review. Reviewwwww… review!)**

**Oh, and PS, if you want to hear Me/Pippin sing a warbly (rather shaky) tune called **_**When You Taught Me How to Dance **_**by Katie Melua (which I'll also sing for the ship's crew) check out my tumblr account under **

**www (dot) tumblr (dot) com / PapayaPie**

**you know the drill, just take out the spaces. **

**And review.**

**Please. drink. my. hot. kool. aid. and. review. **


	7. Around the Torchlight

Dear Reviewers;

Sorry for such a long wait, but work full-time is…distracting. And school is not quite out… I start a summer course ("Advanced British Studies: C. S. Lewis" yaaaaaay!) in a few days… but I'll still write. I PROMISE =)

Thanks for the patience, love to all! This is a filler chapter, but it's long :)

~Pippin

**Note: **Aemon is pronounced "Ay-muhn." Caspian may seem a little out of chraracter—but that's because I'm writing this alongside the book, not the film. In the book, Caspian is much more cheerful and humorous.

* * *

**...**

…

**STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN**

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…

* * *

**Chapter Seven,**

**Around the Torchlight**

I wandered aimlessly back into the kitchen, where Tusk was putting away the last dish. "I'm finished," he said as soon as I entered. "You run off and enjoy the ship. I'm good for now, there isn't much to be done now."

"I'm afraid I'll be bored if I can't help," I said ashamedly. _Honestly, what idiot gets bored in Narnia? Oh that's right—me._

"Well, come back and help me with dinner then, if you've a mind to," Tusk said. "Aemon still unavailable?"

"He's pretty sick. It's not seasickness though. It'll get other people sick if he helps you up here touching all those dishes."

"Well, keep him alive for me, will ya?"

"Sure," I heaved a sigh with my shoulders and backed out. "I'll go find something to do then."

Back on the sunshine of the deck, I squinted my eyes against the rays and felt fuzzy in its hypnotic warmth. I thought about what kind of activities could keep me busy—and suddenly remembered that I didn't know how to (cough) relieve oneself on a ship. And there is no way that I would ask.

_What, too 'proper and ladylike,' fool of a Took? _

_No. Too awkward._

Avoiding eye contact with anyone I recognized on deck, I went back into the cabins, and trundled myself into Caspian's cabin and shut the door, latching it carefully.

With a shudder, the first place I looked was under the bed. The bed was bolted to the floor, with thick cupboards instead of legs. I opened the little door, and wasn't surprised to find a chamber pot.

C. S. Lewis may skip over those little details—but I cannot. I applaud him for his sensitivity. I'm the type of person who reads Lord of the Rings and discovers, by the sixth read, that I had thought to myself "Hm, this is probably where they took a bathroom break" and had since then accepted that those were the moments they did so.

Fortunately my own ridiculous notions about what _not _to share audibly while on a ship full of men has kept me in check so far, and shall hopefully continue to do so.

…

Later, I fetched my sketchbook and pencils and exited again, nearly running into Caspian again in the hall.

"Hi, hi," I said breathlessly. "Sorry. We seem to do this quite a bit?"

"Twice now. What are you off to?"

"Well, Mister Tusk's assistant has a bit of a fever and chest cold down below."

"And you want to catch his sickness?"

"Hardly!" I held up my book. "I want to sketch his portrait!"

"I didn't know you were an artist," Caspian said respectfully.

I shrugged, blushing. "Oh, it's just a little thing I do for fun."

"Let's see," Caspian held out his hand, with a boyish grin. At my blank-faced hesitation, he repeated, "Come on, let's see."

I handed him my sketchbook and watched, biting my lip, as he opened it up.

"Very different, unconventional," he mused, flipping through sketches of _Alice in Wonderland_, dinosaurs, anime, cartoons, shapes, and faces.

I removed it from his hands a little too quickly. "Wait till you see what I can do when I am taking it seriously," I said defensively, beginning to walk out onto the deck. Caspian followed. "These are little funny things to do when bored, absolutely talentless. You'll have to wait see Aemon's portrait."

"Aemon?"

"The cook and apothecaries assistant? The sick one?"

"First name basis so soon, I see," Caspian chuckled.

"Us commoners may refer to other as such," I said lightly, exiting through the small door. "I rather think nobles should be jealous of our familiarity with each other."

"Are you going to draw my portrait?" Caspian, stepping out behind me into the full sunlight. The deck was starting to feel unbearably warm—I needed to get someplace shadier or windier. I had forgotten how much I hated sunlight.

"If you would like me to," I said politely. _Why am I finding this conversation annoying? This isn't just any person I'm speaking with. He's my King, my superior. _

"I do!" he replied eagerly.

"Very well. Perhaps later this afternoon."

"Alright, I'll let you go now," Caspian said peculiarly.

"Why the change of tone?" I questioned, curious.

Caspian shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I glanced at him, and resisted stepping closer to look deeply into his eyes to see if I could stare the truth out of him. He would be almost certain to take it the wrong way. While I may be known for a good stare-down at home, here, the meaning is debatable.

"Then never you mind," I said cautiously, giving a small bow. "If you'll excuse me, your Majesty."

"Absolutely," Caspian said amiably, waving me on. I turned and walked to the mast, gripped the edge of the opening, and slipped through the hole. I planted my feet firmly on the dark, creaking stairs, and went into the belly of the ship. I don't like to over analyze things as most females do, so I quickly forgot Caspian's odd tone and annoying, rather probing comments. All things reveal themselves in due time, don't they? So why worry?

My eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and the sunlight grew to a cheery chestnut color. Swimming in the rays coming from the crisscrossed pallet above, I walked between the empty rows where dusty oars lay unused.

Aemon was sitting up in his hammock, arms crossed over his chest. He watched me with an unreadable expression as I approached.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

"Are you here to torture me?"

"Quite."

He sighed, looking to the other sleeping sailors. "As long as you torture me quietly. What is your method?"

"You are to be a model for a picture," I said, sitting some distance away on an overturned bucket.

"You're going to draw my portrait?" he asked, suddenly interested. "Well that's—that's…"

"Splendid?" I offered. "Outrageously incredible?"

"Splendid will do," Aemon still did not smile, but he seemed more cheerful. "I look ghastly though."

I put the end of a 2B pencil in my mouth. "You'll do," I said.

"What is the portrait for?" he asked.

"I am here to keep you company, but I thought, why suffer your loathsome humor alone? I shall bring some artwork with me to keep myself entertained."

"Reaaally."

"Almost."

I opened my sketchbook, and cocked my head, taking an inventory of the shadows on his face, and the shape of his almost mushroom-like haircut.

Aemon felt uncomfortable with the ongoing attention. "I feel as if you judge my appearances," he admitted. "I am certainly no centaur."

I twisted my mouth into a sneer. "Don't worry, I prefer my models _clothed._" Then I bit my lip, feeling the awkwardness sliding into the conversation as easily as a raindrop. "Centaurs require too much attention to muscle contours," I saved myself, "For which I have no talent whatsoever."

"Oh," Aemon understood what I meant. "and who is your master?"

"No one," I said.

"You draw without a master?"

"Yeah."

"So you are not an apprentice."

"Truth."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I said. "Art is something I do for _fun, _like one would whistle, visit a friend, or pick flowers."

"I don't pick flowers for fun."

"Do you have any fun at all?"

Aemon shrugged. "Not today, that is for sure. But I _do _feel so much better, I could work tonight."

"Take your time, cowboy," I said, beginning the outer lines of his hair, ears, and jaw. "Don't over exert yourself."

"Why the concern?"

I smiled at him. "We're part of the same crew, are we not? We can try to get along."

Now for the eyes, I thought. I looked up at his eyes, deep blue, something I didn't notice. His brown hair wouldn't be a problem—but those eyes—they were large, and I had a horrible habit of making large eyes look too much like cartoons.

"I don't know how much longer I can take the staring," for the first time, Aemon's face broke out into a grin. His teeth were bared in the healthiest of smiles, and his eyes crinkled right up in happy wrinkles. He chuckled, embarrassed. "It does make one feel sort of—I don't know, like I'm being examined by Aslan."

I laughed too. "He's much nicer than I am."

"You've met him," Aemon stopped smiling.

"I have."

"What was it like? Talking to him?" he leaned forward with eagerness, just as I tried to capture the circular folds of skin around his lips and nose. I paused, staring at the paper, pencil held hovering just above his left nostril.

"I once told him that I was worried about falling apart," I said softly, "And he said—in a voice rich in majesty, soft as a kitten, sweet as honey, as terrible as falcon's claws—that he would be there to pick up the pieces."

"Wouldn't Aslan prevent you falling apart?"

"Choices and circumstances are out of his control," I replied, "That's his way, don't you think? His love would be something of a great pair of hands, ready to catch us when we fall in our weak human errors."

"You can sound very bright sometimes," Aemon said, almost complimenting me.

"Don't be fooled," I said, "Underneath all that _sounding _and _seeming, _there is a bright and intelligent being in here."

"I didn't mean to be rude."

"I wasn't offended."

I made a few more shadows on the left of his head. "Looking good, looking good," I mused to myself. "The shadows make your lips look a little fat. But don't worry. They don't look like that in real life."

"Oh, brilliant," he rolled his eyes.

"All finished."

"That was _way _too fast."

Well, I am fast, so perhaps he just needs to get over it. I stood, brushed eraser bits off of my dark blue pants, and went up the pole beside his hammock. "Take a look."

He paused, regarding the picture. "It sorta looks like me."

"Sorta? Thank-you for your vote of confidence. Anyone would know it is you."

"You're a cocky sort of person," he shook his head, and the corner of his mouth almost smiled again.

I bent my eyes to the page, avoiding his matter-of-fact tone. "Not particularly, I just think this picture turned out rather well, that's all." I took the sketchbook out of his hands and leapt off the pole's footholds, collected my pencils from the bucket, and turned to leave.

"What, you're leaving now?"

"Ssssshhhh," hissed one of the sleeping sailors.

"Yes, Caspia—I mean, the King wants me to draw his too."

Aemon pointed at me and laughed. "Ha! I heard _that! _Familiarity with the _King, _hm? Better watch your tongue, it _does _get us commoners into trouble. Trust me. I know. Take it as friendly advice from one crew member to another."

_What is it with these people and names?_ I thought with some annoyance.

"Point taken," I said loftily, stepping up the stairs, back into the hot white light of the sun.

…

The deck was roasting. I looked around for Caspian, and saw the billow of his royal purple shirt high on the poop deck, where his fists gripped the helm. Coming out from beneath the shadow of the great scarlet sail, I could see his face, and it was the ultimate picture of happy contentment.

I tucked my pencils my pocket, the sketchbook under my arm, and used a hand to support myself on the rail of the _very _steep steps. I finally ascended the poop deck, and felt instantly refreshed, for here our faces were brushed with the great winds that pressed the back of the sail.

"Caspian," I greeted, testing this whole obsession with first-names.

"Pippin!" he replied, jovially.

"I mean, your Majesty," I corrected apologetically, tucking one foot behind the other and bending my knees, which really was the most basic of curtseys where no skirt was needed.

Caspian laughed and waved his hand dismissively. "How went your artistry?" _What—no threat of getting beheaded, Your Worshipfulness?_

"As well as can be expected. The boy is incorrigible." I held open my sketchbook. "This is the final result."

"That is very nice!" Caspian complimented. "Are you here to draw me?"

"If you'd like." I sat on the bench that ran around the edge of the deck, under the roving shadows of sail and ropes. "You'll have to continue looking on ahead at the horizon, though. Keep still."

"I may move my arms?"

"Yes, your arms are fine." I pulled my pencils out of my pocket and began to draw a rough outline, mostly squares and circles.

"How do you like the _Dawn Treader _thus far? You've had an interesting morning," Caspian inferred.

"Well enough. She's so grand and light. But I had forgotten how much I hate sunlight."

"That's a very odd thing to hate."

"Just look at my nose!"

Caspian gave a confused smile.

"It's okay to move for a second," I laughed, "I've barely drawn anything yet."

Caspian shifted and glanced at my face, eyebrows raised critically. "Seems to be a healthy nose."

"I can feel it _burning, _I tell you. I can always feel an itch in my skin before it turns bright red with sun exposure. Now please return to your pose."

Caspian laughed heartily and looked back to the horizon. "My shift here at the helm has just begun, but I am convinced that I could do this all day."

"Like it that much, eh?" I asked. _Thank-you, Canadian friends._

"To steer a grand, sailed beast, elegant and smooth, on which the hopes of many Narnians are pinned and the blessing of Aslan rests upon? Of course!"

I nodded silently. The profile, and the shadows of his shirt, were beginning to take shape. At the more detailed lines of his face, my face felt a little warm for more than just sunburn. It's one thing to draw a hottie from the internet, and another entirely to draw the person while sitting a few feet away from them.

"You're blushing," Caspian said outright.

"Told you I was getting sunburned," I said defensively, staring at my paper.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, it just seemed…"

"Why, your Majesty, are you giving yourself airs?" I teased.

"Maybe I am."

"A good king admits his faults."

"And you will admit that I am a fine figure to draw, yes?"

"I will _allow _that your shirt makes for fine depth. Your beard is almost impossible. I hate it."

"It protects my chin from sunburn."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "That's a falsehood. Now hush." After a pause, I realized it was too late to add "your Majesty" to the end of the statement, so I just bit my lip and hoped that I really wasn't bordering on disrespectful.

A strand of his hair went across his face, causing his nose to wrinkle and his mouth to go into a funny shape. He went to brush it aside, and I hissed, "Wait! Don't move! Try to keep your face how it was before."

He let his face return to tranquility, but the hair was obviously being ticklish.

"Okay, you can move it," I laughed. "And, here it is." I held out the sketchbook.

"Lion's Mane! That's it indeed!" Caspian said approvingly.

"Your Highness!" Drinian's head came over the end of the deck. He hopped up the last step and came towards us with a thoughtful, almost angry expression. He looked like a man on a mission bent to interrupt and more.

"Hiya, Cap'n," I said cheerfully.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us," Drinian said to me, with a certain kindness, but the firmness never left his voice nor the knotted concentration from his eyebrows.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked innocently. Before he could answer, I waved my hand. "O Captain, my Captain, your battle has been won, I was just drawing his portrait, but now I am quite done." I swung around and began descending the ladder. "I wish you a good talk, I wish you all the best. For now I'm going on a walk, I hope you won't be vexed!" I hopped to the ground and stepped inside the door to the cabins, holding my breath to listen in on their conversation.

_Alas, my greatest dishonesty in life. I am an eavesdropper. I expect lightening to strike any moment. _

Caspian was laughing uproariously. "Isn't she funny?" he said to Drinian.

"A humorous poet, indeed, sire. You admire her, I presume."

"Well—yes! I mean, she was a servant of the Pevensies—I don't remember, she was at first their bodyguard, and then their florist—or was it gardener? Oh, no matter. Then, after that, she was a worthy friend in battle. A clumsy one, and a death trap, but an ally nevertheless. Why shouldn't I admire her?"

"Your Majesty, may I speak as less of your humble servant, and more like your Captain and your friend?"

"Drinian, I've never had you speak so boldly, and at welcome! May you know that any opinion you hold is safe with me. I am your _King, _not your god."

"Your Majesty, then, it is my opinion, that you not flirt so much with the little lady." Drinian's tone was grave. "She's the type who invests her emotions—I can see traits in her that I see in my own daughter back home."

"Why, Pippin, she's a friend—and a new one, at that!" Caspian exclaimed.

I bit my lip, feeling so guilty about listening in, but ever so grateful at the knowledge my sin was bringing.

"Then for goodness sake, your Majesty, don't do the little—that little—you know. That charm act. I've seen it before. Save the lady's heart for someone back in her own country. A maiden awaits you here—in Narnia—someday, I'm sure, someone who will be your Queen. Do not toy with the hidden smiles and bashful comments."

"I fail to see how I've done either," Caspian said apologetically. "I do not doubt you, though. Please alert me to the specifics?"

"Oh, addressing yourself as a fine figure to draw, embarrassing the lass about her blushes while she worked. Those are two accounts. Have great care, your Majesty."

"Drinian, again, I welcome what you have to say. I humbly accept your scolding. I did not really realize—is that really flirtatious?"

"It seems to be in Narnian blood to be witty, gay, and charming," Drinian said in an understanding tone. "But not at the expense of our only lady passenger! Wouldn't you agree?"

"Agreed, and ashamed," Caspian laughed. "Do you think I should apologize?"

"Best not bring it up, I think," Drinian said carelessly. "I think it's too early for apologies, and if you amend your behavior…"

"Then there won't be anything wrong," Caspian inferred, a grin in his voice. "Drinian, I am glad to have you has my confidant as well."

"Well, just don't get any weird ideas, your Majesty, I still expect you to respect my knowledge as Captain—anything else regarding women—well, my wife would tell you that I am about as sensitive as dragon's breath."

The two men laughed, and I slipped back into the darkness of the hall and returned my art supplies to the cabin.

…

That afternoon, I tried to keep busy, and keep out of Caspian's way. I ran errands for Tusk; collecting eggs, running rations of water to the sailors perched in various places about the ship, learned how to make coffee over a woodstove, (it tasted like smoke, tar, java, and sweetener), and finally decided to do something cruise-ish.

I sat on one of the benches around the edge of the middle deck, crossing my arms over the rail and looking out to the wide ocean. The waves sent a cool spray up into my face every so often, but for the most part, I watched the clouds rove and change shapes, and studied the glimmers of what lay beneath the surface in the ship's shadow. Sometimes I fancied I saw the dorsal fin of a dolphin, or the shape of some fish returning to the deep.

Eventually, the glare of the sun on the waters made me shut my eyes against the ultra violet rays bouncing off the neon blue sea. Once my eyes were shut, and the sun warmed me cozily, I drifted off to sleep. In my doze I dreamed of weird conversations, going back to high-school, losing my socks, being best friends with Harry Potter, eating tuna, walking upside down, and playing with colorful plastic dinosaurs that you can get in a bag of 200 pieces (I named all of them).

"Eh! Lady! Rise and shine!" a tiny paw was poking my shoulder. I blinked wearily, and found the sky much changed. Something in the blue was giving a hint of lavender, and the sun was lower. Shimmers of orange, like a splash of magic, seemed to glisten on the edges of the horizon.

"How long was I asleep?" I gasped, looking at the change. "It's got to be at least four o'clock."

"Aye, a few hours after high noon it is," Reepicheep was perched on the railing at my shoulder. "Slept for a few hours, you did, no one minded. Had a few benevolent sailors tip toeing their way around you!"

"Oh dear, I wasn't in the way?"

"Why no! I say it not to guilt you, but for you to know that our sailors always act with honor—especially if the lady needs a bit of rest!" Reepicheep brushed back his feather, for the wind had blown it forward into his cheeky, cute mousy face. "And I knew that—with the little Lady drawing so many pictures this morning—you must, as an artist, not want to miss a glorious sunset on the Eastern sea."

"Reep, you know my mind," I said, "Thanks for waking me up. Will you wait for me a moment?"

"Certainly!"

I rushed with a waddling sprint back to my cabin, fetched my art things again, and came back to join Reepicheep. "I will draw this sunset right up," I said cheerfully.

"You don't mean to sit HERE, do you?" Reepicheep scoffed.

"Why ever not?"

Reepicheep put a tiny paw to my head and gave it a pat. "Just you wait till you see where _I've _been all day." He jumped off the rail and began to dart quickly (as all mice do, even the non-Talking ones) towards the front of the ship to the forecastle (that's the higher deck in the nose of the ship). We went up the ladder (me much further behind than he) and came up upon the wood, where two sailors were beginning to light the glassy lanterns on the rail.

"Evening, evening," they greeted.

"Good evening," I nodded with a smile, looking around. "Reep! Where did you go?"

Reep's head came from even higher, from a ladder within an opening, much like a yawning doorway with no door. "Psst! Here! Come and look!"

How could I have forgotten? Of course Reep spent the entirety of his day, without break, sitting in the Dragon's mouth itself?

The prow of the ship, an elegant dragon with a great wide-open mouth and wings that bordered both port and starboard, was accessible by a little ladder through his neck. I stepped into the arch, went up the ladder—Reepicheep's tail flicking my face at every rung—until we were in the cool, echoing mouth.

The metal work was green, like an old iron bench left to moss and rain in a forgotten park. The tongue and gums were red, and the teeth were ferocious to look at. If I hadn't known they were fake, I'd be nervous to be near them.

"This IS the best place on the ship," I laughed. "You're a brick for showing it to me." Narnia makes my British lingo filter in to my conversation as often as I like. So often in the real world I have to hold back because I know no one will understand the sudden use of them.

"No trouble at all! Merely a trifle!" Now, Reepicheep reminded me of Mr. Beaver. "This is certainly a special place, where I will find my quiet moments to ponder the rhymes in the sea. But I'd like to share it with you tonight, and see what you draw. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I smiled and sat, cross legged, against the yawning esophagus and set my drawing supplies before me.

For a time, Reepicheep and I just talked and laughed a little, playing a riddle game that mirrored Gollum and Bilbo (I regret I was more of the Gollum… which means I lost, but I was creepy about it) and looking silently out among the teeth as the sea glided past us in slow, harmonious crashes and sprays.

I drew what I looked like looking out of the mouth (Reepicheep said; "This is your moment! Leave me out of the drawing!") and from what I could guess the rest of the ship looked like, with the sun setting in the west—back over Narnia—while we sailed straight on into the East, where the sun would rise to greet us after our first night on sea.

Eventually Reepicheep asked to draw, which I found my smallest pencil for his paw, and he actually did quite well. He drew his family, and various shapes that represented significant moments in his life—like the returning of his tail, and adventures that I never knew about.

I admired his skill as a beginner, and promised him the use of my sketchbook any time he wanted. Reepicheep, being an honorable sort, said he couldn't accept it without an exchange; he promised a few fencing lessons in return when he found out I couldn't spar to save my life. (any sword fighting back in the day, I reminded him, was accidental.)

The sunset was an array of a painter's palette, not just the warm colors of sunlight's fire but the cool dimming of heaven's kerosene lamp as well. The lavender and blue petals from a shadowed garden were falling amongst the colossal clouds that looked a little bit like sherbet (it made my mouth water to think of the tangerine and raspberry flavors). I tried to capture the same colors from meager colored pencils, but even my favorite colorful brand seemed to fall short in comparison to the majesty being displayed in the atmosphere.

Eventually, it was growing too dim to really see, and Tusk sent Aemon out for some fresh air, and to fetch me for helping with dinner.

His head peaked up the neck apologetically, saying, "Hey, there, uh—Tusk wants your help for supper now."

"What are you doing out of your hammock?" I asked.

"Tusk said I needed some fresh air."

"And Tusk is right!" I gathered my pencils and put them in their box. "How do you feel?"

"Great, really. A little queasy, not too bad," Aemon shrugged and held out a hand. "Do you need assistance?"

"Thanks, I can manage," I said, stepping into the ladder's hole. Aemon ducked out into the forecastle, and I followed deftly.

"May I take the drawings to show His Majesty?" Reepicheep asked. "I'll return them to your chambers after, if you like."

"Oh, yes, absolutely," I said, pleased. "Do not neglect to show him your sketch. They really are lovely. Aemon—wana join me in the kitchen? You don't have to help, just keep us company!"

"I think I'll stroll the deck for awhile, and join you in a moment."

I waved and, feeling energized with the buzz of watching an incredible sunset and a decent afternoon nap still flowing in my veins.

"Hiya, Tusk," I said, stomping in to the warmly lit galley.

"That smile be strange for one about to work so 'ard her arms may fall off," Tusk said gravely. "You accustom to work?"

"Of course!" I said, rolling up my sleeves, thinking about a summer working in a Korean restaurant that introduced me to a whole new world of working behind-the-scenes with food and service. "Just tell me what must be done."

"Can you chop an onion?"

"Yes indeed," I held out my hand, and Tusk handed me the fattest onion I've ever held. Luckily I've never been one to sob too much over an onion, but I was definitely blinking back the stinging in my eyes as I chopped with a dull knife.

"All knives kept dull in case we were to run aground while usin' em," Tusk explained. "How's the eyes?"

"Oh, itchy, naturally," I said. "Suppose next you hand me that tomato."

"It's a ripe one. Don't squish it."

"So little faith in me!"

"Well, you ain't my hired assistant."

"True, true. Aemon's eager to get back to work, said he'd be in for a bit. Don't suppose you got something he could do so he'd feel useful, would you?"

"Oh, I suppose if he don't spread his sickness, he can stir the mash."

Mash sounded unappetizing, but I withheld frowning just yet.

Soon Aemon came tromping in slowly, stretching and yawning, and Tusk handed him a ladle without so much as a "How-de-doo" and pointed to a pot. Aemon smiled at him tentatively and set to work.

"Hey, how was your stroll?" I asked, now chopping carrots.

"Fresh."

"Hey, Tusk," I asked, "Where are all the fresh vegetables coming from?"

Tusk grinned. "This was something of my own invention. We have to eat them all within the first month of voyage otherwise they won't last for too long. Take a look." He pointed out the door. I set the knife aside and stepped outside the door into the twilit deck, and looked at a wooden bin near the chicken coop.

Much like the tub used to grow tea leaves in Cair Paravel's kitchen, this tiny flower bed, about three feet wide and four feet long, was filled with soil and had tiny rows of plants growing. Cute.

After the whole crew had come in, eaten, and cleaned their plates; then Tusk, Aemon, and myself sat down and ate our supper. "Mash" was stewed vegetables sopped up with bread and herbs. Unlike anything I'd ever had, I enjoyed it; but in a weird, chewy, soggy kind of way. Afterwards we washed off all the dishes in a bucket of seawater and a bar of very stingy soap that was heavy on the lye. My mind kept thinking _don't think about fish poop, don't think about fish poop… _then I started thinking about soap from _Fight Club_, and that was even worse.

Soon Jekyll popped his head in through the door and said, "Hi-ho! I know you three feel that you must work your bloody arms off, but there are songs to be had! It's the first night of our voyage! A celebration is in order. Come on, come on, get your lard out here."

Gladly, I followed him out and took my seat on the rail where everyone had formed a great circle. One of the sailors began a cheerful tune on a pennywhistle, and all the music needed was a fiddle for it to sound like a real Irish jig. A sailor was in the middle, hands on his hips, dancing like Riverdance (but a little more manly looking). The music ceased and everyone clapped three times, then the tinny jig resumed and the sailor put everyone into a fit of stitches when he tripped on a shoelace and went down on his rump.

We burst into laughter and applause, and he stood back up, and held out his hand to me. "Ay, lass! Show us a step from your country!"

I took his hand, hissing, "What's your name?"

"Baron," replied the jovial sailor, about fifty, wrinkled, adorable, with a pipe between his teeth.

"Uh, so, uh, here's a little something I learned when I was only seven," I said shyly, putting my hands on my hips. Baron followed my example, and I pointed my right foot and pointed it in front of me. He followed, and I narrated, "This is something from my—uh—well, ancestors, I guess. My ancestors are from a country called Scotland."

Apparently, there was a sailor named Scott, because all the crew members burst into laughter and began smacking him, elbowing, and hooting, "Eh you ought to move there and leave us alone, eh?"

"Oh, shut up!" Jekyll hollered.

"Well, this is called, the Sword dance. It's a highland dance. You see, you put a sword on the floor, and I think—if I remember correctly—that they'd dance over them right before a battle. Er, wait, maybe to send the warriors off? Or—wait—maybe it was for the celebration AFTER the battle. Something like that."

"Want a sword?" asked a sailor.

"Why not!" I shouted back.

Everyone applauded with laughter as Drinian stood up, removed his sword from his belt, and handed it to me. I pulled the sword out of the sheath, put the sword on the deck (pointing away from me) and lay the sheath across, so it formed a cross-shape.

"Remember, I haven't done this since I was little," I warned. "If I cut a foot off, I think Reepicheep could sing at my memorial service—and you should just—oh, never mind."

"It'd be an HONOR," Reep replied sarcastically.

"Need a song, miss?" laughed the penny whistler.

"Same one you were playing before! The jig one!" I replied.

He put his lips to the recorder-ish looking instrument and began a lively tune.

I stood erect, taking a deep breath, and stepped in the left hand bottom corner of the cross with my right foot. I paused, stepped back, switching to my left foot into the right bottom corner. The first step was always a little slow. Then, I switched feet again, but this time I jumped over the blade, into the top right corner, then switched again to the left corner, then twirled around, doing the same steps from the sheath's end, then again from the point. I accidently stepped on the blade once, but fortunately wearing shoes prevented me from losing my darling appendages.

I completed the step, and panting, bowed. Everyone laughed and clapped, slightly impressed, some of them just shaking their heads and muttering things like, "Fancy _real _warriors dancing over open blades before a battle! Sheer stupidity!"

There was such a whirlwind of people doing various performances after that I hoped Jekyll had forgotten about my agreement to sing. But unluckily for me, he did not.

Nearly an hour later, Jekyll gave me a friendly shove into the middle, shouting out, "And now a song from Pippin's country!"

"Riiight," I mumbled, clasping my sweating hands behind my back. I wanted to sing _When You Taught me How to Dance _or Sally's Song from the Nightmare Before Christmas. But something peculiar was beginning to happen—I was having trouble remembering the lyrics. Now mind you, my first adventure was marked by the unfortunate erasure of _Prince Caspian_'s events from my mind. That is, I could remember absolutely nothing from the book. And in due time, details from the old world were beginning to fade as well. I remember such things happened to the Pevensies, but somehow thought myself immune to it because of my outsider status.

Apparently, this was a false confidence to have.

"I don't remember any songs," I fibbed. Words were beginning to fade from my 'comfortable' choices, and all that I could really think of was that selections from _Phantom of the Opera _would probably way too much for this crew to handle.

"Ha! Modesty!" Reepicheep called me out on my lie, but it was definitely for the wrong virtue. "Go on! We're waiting!" he laughed jovially.

"Well, okay, I'm going to sing something depressing," without stopping to consider whether or not it was a good or a bad choice, I launched right into the opening strains of _Falling Slowly _by Glen Hansard.

_I don't know you__, b__ut I want you__, a__ll the more for that__  
__Words fall through me__, a__nd always fool me__, a__nd I can't react__  
__And games that never amount__ t__o more than they're meant__, w__ill play themselves out__  
__Take this sinking boat and point it home__, w__e've still got time__  
__Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice__, y__ou'll make it now__  
__Falling slowly, eyes that know me__, a__nd I can't go back__  
__Moods that take me and erase me__, a__nd I'm painted black__  
__You have suffered enough__, a__t war with yourself__, i__t's time that you won__  
__Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time__  
__Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice__, __you've made it now__  
__Falling slowly sing your melody__, __I'll sing it loud_

Without bothering to hold the note at the end long enough, I stopped and giggled. "I probably shouldn't sing about sinking boats… it's bad luck right?"

Everyone was in an uproar with protests. "No, no! It's fine!" "We don't believe in luck!" "No it's bad luck for a talking bird to poop on the deck, that's REAL bad luck!" and various other exclamations.

"Oh, well," I curtseyed, blushing. "It's over anyway, that's it, I'm done…" embarrassed, I waddled back to my seat and sat down, giggling awkwardly and hiding my face. The sailors are laughed at me and burst into supportive applause, slapping my shoulders and nodding their assurances of their enjoyment.

With a look of a shameful puppy, I glanced at Caspian. He finally rescued me by silencing the joking sailors and said loudly, "Thank-you, Miss Pippin, for your song." He smiled at me. "It was _lovely. _And gentlemen—I think it was more fitting than you give her credit for. Are we not sinking without Aslan's guidance? Do we not journey to bring the seven lords back to their home? She could not have picked a better song. Enough of your jokes." He shoved one playfully in the shoulder. "I think _you're _next."

The young tenor stood up and eagerly went forward, removing the spotlight from me. I sighed and Caspian plopped down beside me.

"Thank. You." I said gratefully.

"You put up with their jest," Caspian replied, "Twas the least I could do!"

I smiled at him, and we turned and listened to the new entertainment.

The boy that began to sing had the high, clear voice of a young man whose voice had recently changed—very pure, but more mature. He sang of a long lost love, and the white gloves she left behind, and the glove that he would lay across his chest every night—until one morning he awoke to find her with her hand over his heart, staring down into his eyes. And he realized he had died, and she was welcoming him into Aslan's country.

It was beautiful. I felt myself carried away on the chills that the highest notes left behind, the shiver left by the tremor of tears that seemed to carry through the melody, and allowed my mind to drift shut to the lapping of the ocean and the summer breeze around the torchlight.

...

...

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...

**Important Announcement:**

I have a new website. I noticed that my tumblr account may be fun for some people but is not very easily navigable. Go to

**unhappenings (dot) webs (dot) com**

for everything Pippin, references, art, resources, and whatifs and whatnots.

^unhappenings… get it? Get it?

It has the pictures I drew in this chapter. If you want to see what they look like. (I should rate myself R for shameless self promotion… :)

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**REPLIES TO QUESTIONS AND COMMENTS =)**

**Walks-with-nose-in-book: **I am very sorry you have insominia—I used to have sleeping problems and it does totally suck. I hope the chapter helped cheer your sleeplessness a little :) Try relaxing in bed with a glass of warm milk (don't judge me haha) and reading ancient literature book to help you sleep… even if I wanted to be awake, I couldn't stay awake while reading something deeply complex… haha!

**Scissorhero: **Yah I was hoping you'd catch that semi-cameo! See you in the book of faces! ;)

**Locked in a Stony Tower: **I don't think we'll do any romance… :/

I actually haven't read the Odyssey, it makes me feel like the worst English major ever. Haha. And I went back and looked it up, Edmund and Pippin did dance— and she tried to explain "rapping" to him. I knew how to waltz already, learned way back in elementary school :)

**AngeK12: **No worries, I haven't forgotten Eustace. Pippin—er, me—just is not looking forward to seeing him. When she thinks of "new arrivals" all she can think about are the Pevensies… and the less about Eustace Clarence Scrubb, the better. But don't worry. He'll receive some attention when he arrives!

**Harley of Narnia: **Aw, Harley, thank-you! You are very kind. Really. (blush) D'aww… geez… well… I reeeeally hope you like this chapter then. :D

**Aria Elizabeth Skittles: **Usually I get told I look like Zooey Deshanel, but I have gotten Katy Perry a few times. They look so much alike I suppose it can be used interchangeably. Now that I've cut my hair, I get Joan Jett-comments now.

**Ari Saki: **I'm so glad you got the reference! You get two jellyfish points! Er, hot kool aid. I mean, you get all the waffles. Or… you just win. There ya go!

**Popcorn Dominion: **Your penname scares me a little, but that aside, it warms my heart that you took Dr. Pepper to a library. Way too excited about that!

**UndertheOl'Oak: **Don't you worry! Eddikinz will not be cast aside like a worn shoe. I still have shoes from the fourth grade (they still fit….)

**Exuberantly: **I totally did that 8D when I read your review.

**ArmyofDuctTape: **I burst into "Don't Stop Believin'" while waiting in line for the 80s dance at my university! And yes, I think the inability to swim may have to be more important than I thought it would. I recently went to a pool with my friends and found it even difficult to tread water. o_O

Edmund and Lucy and Eustace will show eventually, but it's nearly a month at sea before they do. I'll have a little "time passes" summary in order to make that come sooner.

And don't worry, randomness will still be around. It just has a new habit of being sneaky and then striking when you least expect it. This is a very long reply. But you left me a long review, lol. :)

**If there is any direct question that I missed, I'm sorry! T'is hard to keep track! You can always message me or ask again in your reviews =)**


	8. At Tournaments w Inappropriate Freckles

**Dearest Reviewers,**

**Oh, my darlings. Let me explain my absence in one word.**

**SUMMER.**

**I've never had a busier summer in all my life. I worked full time, went on multiple vacations (I almost NEVER travel!), took a summer online course, and was sick for two months. I'm sorry for how long it has taken to update.**

**-Pip**

**PS: I'm in a big play at school, the fall production, so I'm busy… again. I'm playing Clairee in "Steel Magnolias." I have rehearsal six days a week. It's not really an excuse for not writing, but rather a fact. Haha. **

**And also, just to let you know, all personal answers to questions and comments will be at the end of the chapter.**

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**Author Note **

**I do feel that the themes of the story mature as I do. References or subjects that are no stranger to me in college may be odd for some of my readers. I guess this is just a thought towards any reader younger than 16… be wary as you read, don't hesitate to point out anything that should have required more warning. Just because I'm growing up doesn't mean my STORY has to grow up too much.**

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**Chapter 8,**

**At Tournaments with Inappropriate Freckles**

Sunlight fell in the round window, streaming melodically to the tune of "land ho!" chorusing on deck, followed by the clattering of feet from all around. I sat up sleepily, head pounding from the lack of coffee, stretching my limbs and wondering how I got into bed the night before. I had hoped to sleep on deck since the night was warm, but someone—hopefully not Caspian—had returned me to my room. Maybe I slept walked? I grinned in spite of the caffeine headache, wishing I had been awake to see myself sleep walk. Wait…

After changing and using the… (shudder) chamber pot, I ventured onto deck and into the flurry of hustle and bustle.

"Did I sleep in?" I asked a sailor who didn't look urgently busy.

He looked at the sun, and the fluffy lavender clouds of morning. "Aye," he replied, "It's already six o'clock, I shouldn't wonder!"

_SIX O' CLOCK?_

"Heavens above," I declared dryly. "I feel so slothful."

"Prepare to land!" the King's voice echoed somewhere from higher in the ship. "We rest here for the tournament in our honor, followed by a feast, we shall pack more sea-hardy victuals from the markets—" his voice drifted off.

"Is this Galma?" I asked, finally spotting a familiar face. Aemon was walking by with a basket clutched in his hands.

"Indeed it is," Aemon said, stopping and adjusting his grip on the basket. "_I'm _to serve as a squire to his majesty, during the fencing matches," he added the last part proudly, and then looked at me with sympathy. "And you go to breakfast. Um—and—it's sort of a formal occasion, you know."

I realized with no surprise that I was wearing the same white shirt and pants from yesterday. "Oooh," I drawled, "So I should dress… like a GIRL?"

"Just wear a dress! At the very least!" Aemon scampered off, our conversation now an afterthought.

"So even if I wear a dress, I don't look like a gir—hey!" I pouted, finally getting the joke. "Fine then," I muttered to myself, tromping back to my—er, Caspian's—cabin, to change yet again, pulling out the black dress from Cair Paravel.

In a moment of weakness, I looked at my reflection in the mirror hanging precariously on a cupboard. "Formal I guess," I said, pulling my untouched make up bag out of my purse and putting some on. I did a quick and messy job of it, looking more like a haphazard girl emerging on a Saturday morning from a more stylish night of it.

I shan't bore you with the details, but soon we were boarded in the boats, (I sat near Reep) and we were rowed the short distance to the island.

The island of Galma had a Mediterranean feel to it. The docks were very long, leading into warmed stones of buildings and walls, fitted amongst cool, green gardens with palms and fountains. That is, that's how the coast looked, presumably where wealthier families lived, and international travelers, bringing along architecture from the upper levels of Tashbaan in Calormene (south of Narnia). Farther inland, we arrived (almost like a wagon train!) from the rich hills into the hot, plain grasses, and trees, filling up a bowl of a valley. At the end of our short descent into the valley (only a few miles wide, I should think, and we didn't even need to cross it) we came to a busy place where tents were being hoisted, and men on horseback were headed towards a small castle where there was a large arena erected nearby.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we arrived, Aemon and I had such a bad case of sealegs that everyone laughed at us mockingly but fared quite nicely them selves. We had stumbled down the dock, trying to choke back our laughter indignantly. And when we fell, we fell into each other and knocked each other over. (I had fully intended on catching him, but that's not at all what happened).

A giant parade was held when we came from the docks and into the village. The official criers of Galma announced Caspian's arrival with trumpets, and a processional of knights lined either side of our crew, carrying Narnian banners. They walked us through the main dirt road till we came to the tournament grounds.

Once there, we were split up. A man wearing a huge hat and feather (not Barbossa unfortunately) led the crew to their tents, and though I couldn't see over the crowd, I heard the Duke of Galma himself personally escorted Caspian to his own tent.

"Royal butt," I thought. When I was escorted to my own tent, a six by six tent of burgandy with a hammock for myself, a trunk full of blankets, towels, a water pitcher, soap, and Galmian clothes, and wanted to slap myself.

"I'm a royal butt," I said, forever grateful. The first thing I did was request fresh water from a woman who appeared at the tent flap asking me if I needed anything. When she brought the water, I stuck my head inside the pitcher's bowl and scrubbed my scalp vigorously. The soap smelled of lye, oats, and honey, which is the _best _kind. My mother would make soap at home, and she always used those ingredients. I would never admit to being homesick, (I WAS used to living full-time at university anyway) but the familiar smell made me miss home a little.

I am one of "those" types of girls who has to shower every day, I am disgusted with myself otherwise. It's annoying, but I can't help it. Back when I was 18—and on my first adventure caused by Dr. Pepper and written not-so-eloquently—I could care less if I went a few days without showering, as long as it was because I was too busy fighting Telmarines or traveling through Narnian woods. Those were good excuses.

But being on a ship for just one night? MUST HAVE SOAP.

Under no circumstances was I singing Tiny Tim's "Tiptoeing Through the Tulips" in a creepily accurate impersonation of his voice when the woman was back again to throw out the water, and to show me where Caspian and the rest of the crew were invited to dine. When she saw that I was only half dressed and had dripping hair, she stepped in with a motherly air, pulled a Galmian dress out of the trunk, and said briskly, "Here, little midge, wear this green one. But first, wrap one of those towels around your head, you must get that mop under control." Then she took the water, and waited outside.

I tried my best to get the mop under control, but doing handstands and cleaning the dirt on the earthen floor with my head _was_ almost too tempting to pass. But I did.

"So, dining? Am I invited?" I said worriedly, throwing my now-curling hair backwards and stepping out of the tent. In twenty minutes my hair would probably look like David Bowie.

"Invited? I don't know," the woman said with a critical air, "I was told to bring you to the table. You are to eat breakfast I assume. That is, unless they intend to flog you."

I laughed heartily, and then realized she didn't look as if she was kidding.

"Aha," I sobered immediately. "Yes. Of course."

"Lighten up," she said without smiling, "It was just a little joke."

With a face that serious, the woman should be elected the pope of sarcasm.

"Oh. Ahahaha," I began to laugh again, with a nervous tremble to my abrasive chortles.

I followed her past several rows of tents identical to my own (how would I ever find it again?) and came out where a wall had been formed out of stripped trees, pointed to the sky and side by side, like an ancient wooden castle wall. We came beneath an open arch way, where a makeshift market of smiths, pages, judges, servants, and cooks seemed to make their berth. The air smelled like apple wood smoke and sweat.

I hiked up my skirt and tried to ignore all the sights and smells so that I wouldn't lose the fast pace of the woman. She led me past the business and up to the main gate of the miniature castle that I had glimpsed from the parade.

When I say miniature, it's not that small at all. It's quite large—but nothing like, say, Pemberly compared to Netherfield Park. What it lacked in size, it didn't seem to make up for with wealth on the inside. Two double doors opened by knights allowed us to pass into the cold stone hall, which surprisingly held very little riches like I thought. There was the basic minimum of torches and plain rugs, open archways instead of doors, and a windowless center corridor that opened into a dining room. The paintings on the stone walls were fading—like a poor Leonardo Da Vinci survivor with failing fresco—and the huge fires in the hearths gave the room a closed-up Winterfell look. I expected to see Sean Bean at any minute.

"Ah! Pippin! There you are!" Reep's voice cut through the crowd of burly men and perfumed lords, past the clinking mail and stuffed shirts. I felt an unexpected flood of relief—I hadn't even realized I was nervous until I _did _hear a voice I was familiar with.

"Thanks ever so much, madam," I said politely to my leader.

She looked at the floor and muttered, "I'll return to escort you home, say one word to the door master, and I'll meet you on the front steps."

"Thank-you," I said gratefully, "I'd get lost otherwise."

"You silly girls always do," she said with a slightly disapproving tone, disappearing behind the doorway and out of the room.

"Reep," I said quickly, whirling around. "Where are you?"

"Over here!" a tiny paw gestured from the other side of the table. With a few nervous "'Scuse me, scuse me," I brushed past very large men and equally intimidating women (they all looked like ancient queens of Charn) and sat beside Reepicheep in an empty chair.

"You look a bit lost," Reep commented, heaving a tumbler of water from his left and setting it beside my plate.

I thanked him and took a sip. _Ah. Well-water. Tastes like home._

"Sure," I whispered, feeling the need to be quiet, even though the louder crowd that sat, stood, leaned against the mantles and hollered across the room to each other would not hear me. "Where is the rest of the crew?"

"Scattered about the place," Reep pointed. "There's Rhince over there. And… Drinian is over there."

"Why is everyone separated?" I asked.

"Seating arrangements I guess. His Majesty requested that they put you next to me. I don't think he trusts this lot."

"Why did we come here then?" I tried not to sound worried.

"It's just the breakfast lot," Reep said, "All the lords and knights and dignitaries and captains and first mates and ladies in waiting and duchesses and ambassadors are here. The country of Galma is as trustworthy as a lion. But all the leaders of the free world in one place? The sense of backstabbery runs high, from history and rumors, you know. Indeed, I misspoke in a way—not all of the free world. We have some ambassadors from Tashbaan here. That country is very far from free."

"Don't let me make a fool out of myself," I whispered jokingly. "I don't want to die!"

Reep laughed, and patted my hand comfortingly. His whiskers twitched over his smile. "Never fear, my small friend," he said, "That's why the King put you next to me."

Soon the feast began without any ceremonial beginning. People stood around and spoke and laughed and argued, some sat and ate, some never joined the table. I'd guess about two-hundred people milled the large dining hall, and most who ate only spoke with their immediate neighbors. It was much less formal than Aemon made it out to be.

"Where is the rest of the crew?" I asked, nibbling on some sort of pastry.

"Another feast, and a fun one, at that," Reepicheep said from inside a small goblet. "The regulars are served out-of-doors. I have to suffer the pomp and general unfriendliness of this table because I am a knight of Narnia."

"What about me?" I asked, sipping my drink. "What am I? I should have eaten with Tusk and Aemon. I'm a servant."

Reepicheep lowered his voice. "Perhaps they thought you were… more involved."

"Like how?" I snapped.

"Caspian's woman of choice for the weekend?" Reepicheep said apologetically. "The Lady would be granted high seating honors. Narnia has never dealt with such things, but Galma… if they suspect you of being the favorite, you're treated like one."

I looked down at my drink and smelled it. It was some sort of wine. _Wine at breakfast? Eew… Among this lot, I'd like my wits to be fully about me, thank-you!_

I replaced the glass and sighed. "Does everyone here think that?"

"Most likely."

"But why? Is there no one decent here?"

"Of course miss Pippin! The Galmian Duke is of the highest honor. But he also observes the customs. And—well—you are the minority."

"Being the only girl to leave the ship must have caused a stir," I laughed a little.

"As it would," Reep smiled, pleased to see I hadn't taken the news too badly.

"Not for long," I sighed happily, smiling.

"Hm?" asked Reepicheep.

"Oh," I hinted, "I just can't imagine being the only girl for too long."

"What makes you say that?"

"A hunch."

"Or a riddle?"

"Certainly," I smiled and continued to eat. "So… when does the tournament begin?"

"High noon! You know I'm participating in the fencing matches."

"You'll totally win," I gushed.

"Will I?" laughed Reep heartily. "I'll drink to that."

"Cheers," I said, and our tumblers clinked together with a sound of brass.

An hour later I lay in my hammock, in a halfway state between napping and day dreaming, awaiting the bells to ring for noon. Reep insisted after breakfast that he show me around the place, so that I could find the crew myself when it was time for the various tournament activities to begin. A single scarlet tent trimmed in gold tassles stood near the edge of the jousting field, and that is where Caspian, Reepicheep, Scott, Rhince, and Baron would be participating in the events. The others proudly served as squires and a hearty cheerleading squad, though there was an unfortunate lack of pom-poms.

I rolled over and fell into a light snooze, and was awakened by the bells before I could even fathom that I was asleep. I groaned and sat up, slipping a green Galmian cape over my shoulders. I tucked a small hanky in the inside pocket just in case, then began stalking out of the tent like a hungry zombie on the hunt. (I wasn't fully awake yet.)

"Pippin!" chorused a few voices when I—eventually—entered the tent.

"Narnian brains!" I greeted, and oddly enough, that wasn't what they expected to hear. A few people chuckled and the rest just looked confused and smiled politely. Conversations among various people resumed.

It was hot and stuffy in the tent, but someone had opened a back flap which allowed a cool breeze inside and sunshine as bright as a nuclear blast. The grass was trampled down and packed into hard ground, and all around, there were armor pieces on their wooden stands and crew-members laughing and preparing.

"I have an idea," Caspian spoke up, appearing out of the back of the crowd in full armor. Admittedly, I thought about how lovely he looked in all that shiny metal, but my brain didn't fully register it till much later—because at that moment, nearly _everyone _in the tent groaned at once. I almost expected everyone to have complained of indigestion and to be merely preparing for burping in unison, but this wasn't the case.

"Don't drag Pippin into this," Drinian sighed, shaking his head.

"On the contrary, let her hear the plan," Reepicheep spoke up for me immediately.

"This is so silly," added Aemon quietly.

"Sorry—did I miss something?" I asked.

Caspian sent a glare around the room before leaning on the table beside the tent entrance, where I still stood awkwardly. "I had an _idea,_" he repeated, "And you may say no if you want."

"Okay…" I said. "What's the problem?"

"The Duke…" Caspian sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

My mind voice affected a fake fangirlish lisp. _Oh, sthop that. Ith too adorabullth._

"The Duke wants me to marry his daughter," Caspian sighed pathetically. "I don't fancy her—not one bit."

"Oh I see," I sighed sympathetically. "So… you want me to dress as a boy, declare my love for the daughter, then you'll challenge me to a duel, then I'll defeat you, you'll feign death, I'll win the daughter, then tomorrow I'll promise her something, and you'll die just like you promised, and I'll surprise her with the news that I'm a girl just like I promised, because we're all men of our word, really—well, except me, who is in fact a woman."

Caspian opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. "Oh. Well. I hadn't thought of that."

"That is a horrible idea," Aemon interjected, and Tusk gave him a smack upside the head.

"Can't you see she is in jest?" Reepicheep laughed, slapping the hilt of his sword. "Caspian, however, does have an idea that seems much more subtle."

"I'm simply going to bestow a token of my affection to you, at the tournament, before everyone," Caspian said tragically. "It's a rather low move on my part—but—the Duke has been dropping hints all day. You've no idea how ridiculous it has been."

"A warrior on the field, and a coward in love," Drinian laughed. At Caspian's immediate glare, he cleared his throat and amended, "Any of us would help you if we could… but…"

"I'm the only girl," I sighed. "And I'm in your confidence. Deliver a token to some random Galmian girl and you leave a broken heart behind."

"Exactly!" Caspian grinned.

"I will accept your affectionate token with the most impressive acting you'll ever see," I boasted, flipping my hair and finally stepping fully inside the tent. "You'd think that not only I was promised your hand in marriage, but anyone would think that we'd never talked before!" I tripped over my own skirts but caught myself. "But I do have one thought. What if they think I'm some sort of… ya know…"

"What?" asked Caspian innocently.

"Yes, WHAT?" smirked Aemon.

"Oh, you know, a, uh," I paused, and then decided it didn't even matter. "As long as you do not believe your reputation is at stake, your Majesty."

"Not in the slightest," Caspian replied.

"Then we've an accord," I joked.

"Indeed we do," Caspian grinned broadly. "I just—well, if you could _see _this girl…"

My smile slid off my face and fell to the floor in a horrific death. "See her?" I repeated.

"Aye, see the Galmian princess," Caspian affirmed.

"SEE her?" I repeated, teeth clenched. "You mean to tell me—that one LOOK on my part would allow me to see how unmarryable she is?"

"Unmarriageable," Aemon corrected quietly.

"Are you calling her ugly?" I demanded. When silence followed, and Caspian simply looked confused, I added, "Your Majesty? Are you saying that she is so ugly that one look would make anyone understand how undesirable she is?"

The tent grew rather quiet, though a good portion of the crowd continued conversation, it was obvious they were all listening. Almost instantly, Drinian began talking loudly to the Minotaur about cufflinks or some other rot.

"That's not really what I meant," Caspian amended.

"Your Highness," I drawled out, somewhat sarcastically, "Do you even know the—the—maiden—personally?"

"Not particularly…"

"What's wrong with her?" I asked, rather loudly.

"Well, she does this squint thing, and has freckles," Caspian said, lamely.

"FRECKLES?" I exploded. "I HAVE FRECKLES."

"I daresay," Reepicheep interjected.

"What is wrong with FRECKLES?" I blurted. "THEY'RE JUST LITTLE SPECKS OF SUNSHINE!"

"I only meant…" I'd never seen Caspian look so confused or flustered. "The… freckles… from… you know…"

"What? Happiness? Summer?" I pursued. "Out with it—er—your Majesty!"

"Blast it all," Caspian hissed, "The freckles from… passionate… kisses… as if… the… bruising… neck…"

I deflated. "You're not talking about hickies, are you?"

"Hickies?"

"From… kisses… of a sort…" I said bluntly.

Caspian grimaced. "Those. It's not very reputable. It's not that she isn't pretty. Though the squinting does bother me."

I squinted at him.

"It's just—I mean—if she has affections elsewhere," Caspian whispered, "which is obvious by the state of her neck and her poorly placed scarf… why get involved with any of that rubbish?"

"Quite right. But freckles?" I exploded again. "THESE are freckles!" I pointed to my face and arms wildly. "The sun gives pale skin happy little orange speckles. FRECKLES."

"Oh. What was that word you used again?"

"Hickies."

"We have no such word here. I… apologize… for the misunderstanding. And your… ahem… freckles are very becoming."

I was still squinting, and suddenly realized it. I let my face relax. "I don't want your flattery, but thanks."

"Fancy me to be so shallow?" Caspian asked, dolefully. It took me a moment to realize that in my accusation, I had actually managed to hurt his feelings.

"I don't fancy you to be so shallow," I repeated, robotically. A brief silence followed as Caspian attempted to smile at me, and I chewed my lower lip.

"I'm sorry I yelled," I gathered my skirt again, feeling so unbelievably embarrassed for losing my temper over the simple miscommunication of cultures. "If you'll excuse me, your Majesty," I said, and without waiting for a reply, stepped backwards out of the back flap, and slipped away into the insanely bright sunshine.

"Pippin, wait," Caspian followed me out, much to my surprise. _Seriously? What is the point of having a dramatic exit if you don't let me follow through?_

"King Caspian," I greeted, having never addressed him so formally before. It tasted weird.

"Don't be upset, please," Caspian pleaded, "Curse on all of us for letting a little misunderstanding ruin our day. It's going to be great fun. We can't blame you for not knowing some of our words, any more than you can blame us for not knowing what yours are. Remember all that old slang you used to use?"

"Oh, yeah, Pirates of the Caribbean quotes and spontaneous karaoke combustion—yup. That still happens. Happened about five minutes ago actually."

Caspian blinked. "Ex-exactly. I don't know what any of that means."

I fought a smile. "I still wonder about your perception of the girl."

"You'll meet her soon. And perhaps you will see why I can find no attraction towards her. And Narnia is a free country, is it not? Why submit to arrangements? I can find love on my own time."

"And so will I!" I declared. "My own time, in my own world. That is how it should be."

"Indeed it will," Caspian agreed wholeheartedly. Then he paused for a moment, and gave me one of the most brotherly smiles I had ever seen him bestow. "Will you come back to the tent with us? They're about to bring us our midday meal."

I shrugged, still ashamed of my temper.

"Please stay?" Caspian repeated.

"Alright, fine," I waved my hand dismissively. "My King commands it."

"Asked," Caspian corrected quickly, offering me his arm.

"A fool refuses a king," I quipped, "When there is food offered."

Caspian laughed loudly and we stepped back into the tent, and not one crew member acted as if I had just left like a bad exit on a soap opera.

It was another twenty minutes before everyone was armored and ready to move out onto the field. Tusk, Aemon, and I stuck together as the rest of the crew moved for the stands. The stands were large, wooden bleachers, set up alongside the inner wall of the tourney arena (rather oval shaped, with the opening at both ends like a confused horseshoe). We became immersed in a thick crowd of people of all sorts; Calormenes, Archenland…ians? Northerners, Galmians, "Loners" (from the Lone Islands. Duh.) There were also merchants, fancy ladies, lords, pages, children, poor families, rich families, and things that looked like humans but I couldn't be quite sure.

We sat in the very front row, Aemon seating himself between Tusk and I, elbowing a bit of his bulk to make room. Tusk shifted and muttered about bench width.

I could taste the dust of the arena flooring in my mouth, and horses trotting by made little whirls of brown that floated towards the spectators. Tusk put his feet up, relaxing. Aemon pulled something wrapped in paper out of his jacket pocket, opened it up, and handed me a smushed pastry.

"Hoohoo," I chortled like the Pillsbury Doughboy. "Thanks!"

Aemon pulled a second one out, and ate it one bite. It took me seven or eight to finish off mine.

"None for me?" Tusk asked.

"I reckon not," Aemon shrugged, smiling. The trumpets blared, and the Galmian Duke stood from his box. His box was in the center of the stands, platform above all the seats, where they sat on thrones instead of benches.

"Galma welcomes the beloved country of Narnia, our liege, our sovereign, where the favor of Aslan rests on their sweet shores," he began to shout through a thick brown beard, and the crowd grew silent. "For their honor and the arrival of our King Caspian, we dedicate this tournament to your _hopeful_ victories!" the crowds chuckled. "The land lives in peace," the Duke continued, "And with peace, comes the joy of festivals and games. Play on, and may worthy persons be crowned champions today!"

The crowd roared.

"Look, there's the King!" Aemon pointed to our left.

We all strained to see the small figure of Caspian at the far end of the lists, riding a thick-muscled black charger. We stood and cheered with the crowd. A Calormene knight approached on the right, riding the finest blood-red Arabian-ish breed I'd ever seen. The dished face and high-arched neck gave it the elegance of a prancer, rather than a jousting horse. Rhince was serving as Caspian's squire for this event. He heaved a large lance up over his shoulder, letting Caspian grip the hilt and hold it high like a banner. Rhince quickly backed out of the way.

With a short wave of a white flag near the bottom of the stands on which we sat, Caspian hissed to his horse, and spurred it on.

With a high-pitched "Aaaaayeeee!" the Calormene whipped his horse's flanks and went on, hooves churning up dirt beneath him as the two horses literally flew across the arena towards each other.

This wasn't like the movies, where a joust seems to last a few moments, with multiple camera angles and a slow motion close-up of the knights eyes in the slit of the visor. It was over in a very short second. With a crash, the Calormene was unhorsed, and Caspian's lance came flying past him, the whole tangled mess of shiny armor and dust rose up, and Caspian appeared on the other side, galloping victoriously in our direction with a broken lance in his hand.

We whooped and hollered. The men stood up, and I followed—then I realized that all the other women in the stands were seated. "Hmph," I sat down quickly, not wanting to break some kind of societal tradition.

"I do love a joust," said a prim, proper young woman seated on my right. "Isn't the King of Narnia handsome?" She shyly fixed a strand of hair behind one ear and giggled.

"Yes, I daresay he is," I said, pulling an Elizabeth Bennet just because I could.

"My name is Alana," she said sweetly.

"I'm Pippin, pleased to meet you," I said, holding out my hand, unsure of what to do after that. To my relief, she shook my hand instead of kissing it.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Ah—North of… Narnia…" I lied. "Way up north. And yourself?"

"Galma," Alana replied. She had large lips, big doeful blue eyes, and honey-colored hair. As I noted these features, my peripheral vision instantly checked back on Aemon. He was staring at her over my shoulder, trying to be casual about it.

_Yup, just like I thought. Smitten._

"And how do you like… Galma?" I faltered for better conversation.

"Oh, it's alright, much lovelier when there's foreigners in for a play or a tournament or a market. I do grow bored here sometimes."

"Aw, well, at least this is fun."

"Tell me, which of the knights do you fancy the most?" Alana folded her hands excitedly and looked back over the field, where Caspian was bringing his horse back around for the second run. Rhince rushed back into the arena with a new lance.

"Uh… who do you fancy?" I said, sidestepping the question. _I have no opinions, I'm just a hobbit with no pocket hanky. _

"Oh, well, there is the knight of Exlebur."

"Excalibur?"

"Exlebur. He's from the Lone Islands. And he is a _lovely _fighter."

"Sounds _lovely,_" I repeated.

"There's the Calormene captain—not the one who just lost, mind you. The young one. He looks like he is made of rich ebony! And his eyes! Oh my, if you could just be introduced to him once, you'd fancy yourself to be his wife in Tashbaan that very minute."

"I could never marry someone who loves a false god," I declared openly. "Their Tash creature is hideous. A man-bird with six arms. A _demon._"

Alana shivered. "I've never heard of their god. Sounds terrifying."

"Aslan will cast him out one day," I said dreamily, and the white flag below us was waved around madly.

"Certainly," Alana said, and we both paused in order to cheer like an annoying flock of crows as Caspian went galloping down the arena a second time. His opponent, a swarthy looking fellow in older armor with a long braid trailing out from under his helmet, urged his horse on with a raucous yell in another language.

There was a crash, and this time, Caspian was hit square on the right shoulder, nearly rolled off the horse, but caught the saddle horn and maneuvered himself upright, just in time to stop at the end of the lists and calm his agitated horse down.

"Heavens!" Alana sighed. "I do hope he isn't injured!"

I was standing now, craning my head to see. He was close now, about twenty or thirty feet away, dismounting and checking the straps on the saddle to make sure he didn't loosen it with his catch in mid-fall.

"Caspian," I shouted, "Are you dead, mon?"

Caspian turned towards my voice. He couldn't really see me (those helmet visors really do want to keep visibility to the utmost minimum) but he did wave twice in my direction, yelling, "Hardly, my darling!" before turning back to the horse.

Both my mouth and Alana's dropped open. When I realized she was about to look at me with disbelief, I hurriedly clamped my mouth shut and acted as if that did not surprise me.

"Did he call you darling?" Alana cried, looking back at Caspian as he mounted his horse and began to trot back to the left of the long, long lists.

"It certainly seems so," I said casually.

"Are you…" Alana gestured, hoping I'd complete the sentence.

I glanced back at Aemon. Aemon was nodding fiercely. _Oh I see how it goes, big boy. You just want me to say 'Caspian is unavailable' so you can flirt with her with a clear conscience. _The white flag flew from side to side.

"Caspian and I are…" I began, and was gratefully interrupted by the screams of the crowd as Caspian plummeted across the field again, faster and harder than before, new blunted lance at ready and body poised for the jolt.

This time he rode against a knight in black armor, a large man riding a bay, with the insignia of Archenland on his shield. The two horses came together in the center, and both lances seemed to break and fly upwards. They'd both been hit—Caspian and the Archenlander—but Caspian stayed seated, while the black knight flew off of the rump of his horse and crashed, tailbone first, onto the ground behind the separating rail.

Caspian seemed to be favoring his shoulder still, using his left hand to pull his helmet off and hold it aloft in victory. His grin and brown eyes were betraying that he was probably screaming like a little girl on the inside.

The crowd was tearing up the stands in wild applause, slapping each other and jumping up and down with a bloodthirsty cheer. The loudest of all these were the crew members of the Dawn Treader, spread out over the five bench rows behind us, fanned out but unified in their victory chants and screams.

Caspian wheeled his horse over to our stand and trotted towards us, making eye contact with me and smiling hopefully.

"He comes this way," gasped Alana, eyes bulbous.

"So he is," I said rather dryly, adopting the face of a most surprised—yet not surprised—look of a woman who expects this behavior from royalty but clearly favors this choice among all others.

"Lady Pippin," Caspian said loudly enough for all to hear. "I hope to win this tournament for you."

Feeling suddenly inspired, I pulled my hanky out of my cape pocket, and leaned across the wall, holding it out to him. "Would you wear a mere trinket for a little luck, my King, even though you are well on your way to winning?"

Instantaneously, Caspian's expression changed. I could tell—though I don't think Alana could—that he was trying his very best not to burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Y-yes," he said gallantly, biting his smile back and taking the hanky. He tucked it behind his breastplate. "I shall wear it close to my heart."

"And when next we speak, you'll be crowned with victory," I smiled pleasantly, leaning back again. I blew him a kiss as he turned his horse about, winking at me as he did so, and the crowd burst into a more pleasant kind of applause.

"I'm sorry I've been rude," I said quickly before Alana could ask me how long we'd been dating. "Alana—have you met my friend Aemon?"

* * *

Next chapter… what would you like to see? More tourney matches? Back to the _Treader_ and wide, wide ocean? Who KNEW that freckles have poor reputations? Also—what IS the deal with the Duke's daughter? Why is Caspian so averse to her possible affection?

Find out next time ;)

...

Also... now this may just be a plot bunny, soon to be here, soon to be gone... but how many of you would care- or read- a Doctor Who self-insert? In which Pippin clumsily somehow gets on the Tardis and has a merry adventure?

(crickets)

I was asked this years before, but I had never seen the show. Now I've seen it. now Pippin wants to go. haha

* * *

**Author Note Number Two**

**THE MOST IMPORTANT AND HYPER ONE OF ALL!**

**I NOW HAVE A PAGE YOU CAN "Like" on Facebook! **

**www (dot) facebook (dot) com / pages / Pippin-Strange / 283372598356846**

**(take out the spaces and replace dots with . )**

**Or just type in the search "Pippin Strange" and you'll see a caricature of me on the Dawn Treader as the profile picture.**

**Don't click on the Pippin Baggins one—that's an imposter!**

**LIKE ME? :D**

**No seriously. Like me. It'll be really lame if I make a page and then I get like… four likes. I'd probably go cry in a corner. Actually, I think that's the emotions of "Doomsday" talking. I just watched a heart-wrenching episode of Doctor Who, and emotionally, I'm now perishing. Yes. **

**Here are the advantages of liking me: pictures, fan art, sneak peaks, questions, games, general tomfoolery… a fantastic way for us to connect about chapter progress and other things. I'll definitely post quotes and snippets AS I'm writing... to get a bit of fun between updates :)**

**LIKE ME? :D**

* * *

**Review responses:**

**Narniafan96: **No green mist =) that is the only thing I DESPISED about the new movie.

**Scarlet Wounds: **Your review is definitely the one I think about when I'm doing

homework and wanting to be writing fan fiction instead. Haha. And the fact that you kept track of my absense makes me feel special. You—dear one—are a lovely fan. I hope this exceeded your wishes =)

**Awesomepippin: **I would have responded to your question but I couldn't message you =) Sorry m'dear!

**andreaNguyen: **Thank-you so much for your faithful reading!

**Alsopippinfan: **I hope you and your sister like this installment =) happy reading!

**Alexandraya: **Aw thank-you thank-you thank-you! I always worry a bit about working with material that is mentioned in the book but never explored. I'm glad you like it! Also, what is your name on tumblr again? It's hard to remember the different usernames!

**IloveZero and Pocky yum: **Oh my! (blushes) Thank you for your compliment!

**Softballgirl: **Dude, I love your energy! Thank-you for your review! I'm sorry that you've been checking daily, that must have been disappointing. How I WISH I could update daily, that'd be amazingly fun for me. Haha.

**Scissorhero: **Fan art, eh? ;) good thing your wonderful work is my profile picture on my new facebook page! You are AMAZING. See you on the other side!

**Locked in a stony tower: **Yeah, Caspian is so carefree and… _talkative _in the books. Nothing like they painted him in the movie… so serious!


	9. In the Heart

**Dear Reviewers:**

**Wow, so many of you for this chapter! Thank-you so much! All your words make me feel so blessed. There are about half-a-million review replies are located at the end of the chapter ;) I responded to every single one! Scroll on down at the end of the chapter to see! ;) Also, type in "Pippin Strange" into the Facebook search bar and like me? I post all kinds of tidbits and sneak peaks!**

**I have finished the play I was in and the feedback has been incredible. It's been an awesome journey but I'm glad for a break, I have more free time now to write, and that's what I've been doing! Writing writing writing!**

**I hope you all have a blessed and wonderful Christmas. **

**Love to all,**

**Pip**

* * *

**Warning: Shirtless!Caspian. For a second. A very short second. For no particular reason. I've just always wanted to post a warning like that.**

**PS: I miss Edmund as much as you guys. If I can't find a way for him to return in the next chapter, it will most DEFINITELY be chapter eleven.**

* * *

…

**Strange Things Happen**

**By Pippin Strange**

…

* * *

**Chapter Nine,**

**In the Heart**

Just as I suspected, Alana was indifferent to Aemon's presence, until I introduced them properly. Aemon then took the initiative to ask her questions about herself, and before long, I felt like an awkward chauffeur for their first date. They both leaned around me to make eye-contact and spoke excitedly, discovering all the marvelous things they had in common and how _not _difficult it would be for Alana to take a ship to Narnia next summer and visit.

I tuned them out eventually, content to let them have their fun. Soon I was standing and applauding merrily for the events of the tourney, and that allowed Aemon to slyly inch over till they were seated next to each other. I was just happy that he picked up the open doors I was leaving for him.

My heart sank for Aemon a bit, when he mentioned he was the cook's helper on the ship. Alana's tone changed to one of eager friendliness to dry politeness. I tried not to judge her for her sudden disinterest—perhaps her father had instructed her that she must marry well or lose her inheritance. Perhaps she liked Aemon immensely but guarded her heart to an extent. I could relate to that.

Aemon caught her tone change as well, and spoke less and less as the minutes wore on. I acted as if I couldn't overhear anything, and continued to cheer and blow kisses in Caspian's direction as he won and lost more matches.

They cleared the middle guard after a time and had the fencing contests. Reepicheep won three of them before a seven-foot man from Terebinthia finally outdid him. Even then, Reep could hardly hold back his admiration of the victor, and wanted him to have his second-place prize. The giant man refused (he seemed to be the type of man who might never smile) but told Reepicheep that he had never fought so gallant a foe before. Naturally, that put Reepicheep in a very good mood, and considered it an honour to lose.

After the fencing, everyone cleared out, and I thought it tournament was over. I couldn't remember any other medieval events (my knowledge from _A Knight's Tale _could only take me so far!) but it didn't take long to figure out.

When every knight that participated in jousting—and some from the fencing (though not all, as Reepicheep and the seven-foot man did not partake)—lined up on either side of the dusty stadium, I realized they were going to do a _melee, _when all the contestants fight a "battle" on horseback, and the last standing man wins. These things, from what I heard, were always brutal. What exactly would happen if someone were completely maimed? Wouldn't Lewis have mentioned something if Caspian were only one-armed? Surely Lucy or Edmund would have said, "I say, Casp! You've only got one arm!" or something of the sort. But there is no such thing in the book, so I assumed that nothing bad would happen. Though admittedly, I still felt nervous, and suddenly did not want to be a third wheel anymore.

_Hold me! It's too intense! _I giggled dramatically in my interior monologue. I sat back with my confused lovebirds (this time on the other side of Aemon so that he remained beside Alana) and tuned into their conversation again, and found it had improved, but only a little. Alana was explaining to Aemon some of the pressures she endured being the daughter of a wealthy father, and Aemon was resigning to letting her do whatever she felt was right for her family. They seemed to be resolved to be friends and write each other letters, and see whatever the future might bring them.

I mentally applauded them both for not letting a twenty-minute conversation determine either marriage or a tragedy worthy of a Montague or Capulet. I casually turned their attention to the tournament again, reminding them that Caspian would be fighting in this event and that I needed help spotting him in the lines of miniature armies.

Horses frothed at their bits, men in their steel uniforms held back their reins and let their visors fall. Swords rang as they came out of the sheaths.

"Ah, there's the king, third from the end, right column—he's got the red band around his arm. All the different representatives have a different color."

"I don't see him, Aemon."

"He's the one waving at you."

I giggled. "Oh. That one."

Someone blew a brassy trumpet blast, and the two lines of horses exploded forward. Dust rose as the armies clashed together.

"Aren't they going to get hurt?" I squeaked over the cacophony.

"Dull blades," Aemon assured me.

"Trampled by the horses?"

"If they aren't careful…"

"I hope no one is too badly injured after this," Alana said, concerned. "Especially your King." She looked at me sympathetically. "You must be in agony."

I stared at her for a second, forgetting our ruse. "Oh, yes," I spluttered after a pause, "I just—I just bottle it up inside. I don't know how to HANDLE this!" I rocked back and forth dramatically, lacing my fingers together and pressing my hands up to my chin as if I were praying at the side of my bed.

"Go to it, Narnia!" cheered Aemon, elbowing me. I elbowed him back and tried to pay attention to the fight. It was such a tangled mess of armor, horse legs, and dust clouds that there wasn't much to see. The sounds of battle were very loud, but the trumpet fanfare was louder, but sometimes over the celebratory music there'd be a cry of pain or a clang of weaponry.

The clatter of fighting grew quieter as more participants pulled out of the fight, limping back to the lists or leading their horses by broken bridles. A few people lay scattered on the ground, but with a little help, managed to get up and walk out of the disaster area. Only two men had to be removed by stretchers, but they were both conscious and waving at the crowd with rueful smiles on their faces as they were carried away.

Caspian was the third to last contestant to be knocked off his horse by a heavy blow to the ribs, which not only pushed him off the saddle but knocked the wind out of him as well. Knowing of course that it would only leave him with a few bruises, I affected more concern than necessary, and Alana sympathized with me as any friendly female would.

Caspian limped out of the foray, with as much decorum as he could, but I could tell he was pretty tired and probably had enough anyway. It's one thing for the islanders to play war, but Caspian has lived it to regain his rightful throne to Narnia. There might be—and though it is a rite of passage and sign of bravery—a small side of him that looked at the tournament as a necessity, not a sport.

_Does the King remember the disastrous night raid when he has to participate in these tournaments because it is proper for him to do so? Perhaps I assume there's posttraumatic stress disorder when there is none, but still, it has to drudge up SOME bad memories…_

I tucked the thoughts away, which a slight inclination that I'd like to ask Caspian about it later, but admitted to myself that I'd probably forget or feel to awkward to bring it up.

The winner—a Galmian—was declared, and the stands (most of them full of locals) lost their minds with raucous cheering, clapping, screaming, and throwing random items out into the arena. Aemon and I had to bid our new friend goodbye, but I waited for Aemon at the stand stairway while he exchanged letter-writing addresses with Alana.

He finally approached the stairway and I smiled at him.

"What?" he snapped defensively.

"Oh my gosh, NOTHING," I snapped back, and we stomped down in a rather sarcastic silence—if there is such a thing. I could see us easily becoming like a brother and sister. We already acted like some.

It wasn't long before we were back at the tent, and the sun was setting behind the horizon of the fair-like grounds. It was becoming breezy, and the smell of the ocean began whisking by. The tide was coming in, somewhere—I could almost hear it, just at the edge of my range, rolling like a lullaby on the edges of the island.

Knights groaned and joked and laughed as they received stitches and bandages in the tents all around. Men ran to and fro, running errands and delivering instructions to the victors for the reward ceremony to take place in the night. I waited outside for a few minutes while Aemon went in. As awkward as it is, poor Caspian needed help getting out of his armor and into normal, festive attire. He was too sore and complained—loudly—till Aemon poked his head out of the tent door and snickered, "Come in, Princess."

"Not a princess," I said quickly, not wanting Caspian to get the wrong impression, or for the wrong person to overhear and ask me where my crown was.

"Oh, I forgot, you're just a liar," Aemon joked, letting me scooch past him and into the tent. Which by this time, was much too dark and had to be lit by torches and candles.

"A very good liar!" declared Caspian as soon as I was within sight. He looked only a little terrible, with several scrapes and bruises all over his arms and face. I caught a glimpse of a very large, purple bruise across his chest and ribs before Drinian wrapped him up in a formal, itchy-looking shirt and vest.

"I suppose it's a dress-up affair tonight," I said without excitement.

"Oh yes, and you're accompanying me," Caspian said quickly. "It will not be like breakfast. Reepicheep said you seemed a little nervous this morning. I want you to sit with me."

"Keeping up the pretense?" I laughed.

"Oh yes," Caspian laughed too. Drinian coughed in disapproval.

"Lighten up," Caspian patted his shoulder. "At least Pippin is _here. _I should have to ask one of you to wear a dress if she—"

All the men in the tent began to groan and complain instantly.

"Please tell me you wouldn't go _that _far," Reepicheep exclaimed.

"Of course not, I was in jest," hissed Caspian, "I just want Drinian to count his blessings."

"I'd better change," I announced. "Care to escort me back to my tent, Reep?"

Reepicheep shook his head. "Your tent is just behind ours. I informed our esteemed hosts that it isn't safe for a lady to be in a tent among various crews in the southern half of the fields. You are a guest of His Majesty and should be treated as such."

"It was actually my idea," Aemon interjected. "I didn't want you anywhere near me."

"Hardy-har har," I gave a fake guffaw. Aemon grinned at his own joke.

"Actually, it was Aemon's idea," Reepicheep said, smiling. "These people on Galma really are gallant and grand, but, he _was _concerned about your safety. Our crew seemed to be scattered all over the place, and no one was within shouting distance of you. So Aemon asked me about it, and I instructed for your tent to be re-placed just behind ours."

"I see how it is," I joked sarcastically, "You guys just don't want to escort me to my tent. It's all a plot because of your incurable laziness." I winked at Aemon and smiled at Reepicheep. "What would I do without you boys?"

"Boy? Ha! A Knight of Narnia, if you please," Reepicheep scoffed.

"Right, sorry—knight! Of course. But really. What would I do without you?"

"Probably fall overboard and die," Aemon said dryly.

"This is a whole new side of you, Aemon," I laughed. "So _hostile! _You must feel quite comfortable around me to insult me so."

"Entirely comfortable," Aemon said lightly. "Unless you're just too easy to insult."

"Alright, children," Reepicheep said sternly. "Pippin, why don't you prepare for the banquet and the rewards ceremony? You are accompanying a king you know! Time should not be wasted!"

"Treat the lady with respect," Drinian called from the other side of the tent. A few of the men looked over now, eyes prepared for a scandal.

"I like the banter!" I said defensively. "And I'll dress nicely. Even nice enough for you, Your Majesty," I said this loudly over my shoulder as I stomped out of the tent.

"Thaaaaank-yooou," Caspian drawled after me, having heard nothing of the previous conversation.

Some very dark and evil side of me was looking forward to dressing up and acting as Caspian's date for the evening. I giggled to myself, suddenly giddy about what I might find in the trunk that the Galmian's left for me with attire suited to their customs. I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to ask, but it didn't make sense for the islanders to give me a complimentary set of clothes for the two days. It wouldn't surprise me if Aemon or Reepicheep had _asked _for them to provide me with something appropriate, knowing I'd be wearing trousers while on the _Dawn Treader_ and using spare moth-eaten dresses from a Cair Paravel closet.

Nevertheless, I threw open the trunk with glee, and picked out a simple black velvet dress. It was long-sleeved, with a tight bodice and laces that held it together from the neckline to the waist, and a skirt-length that only felt a little too long. Little bits of white undergarment ruffle lined the neckline, the laced section, the sleeve edges, and the edge of the hem. It was simple, and not very fancy. But black is always classy, right?

My hair had turned into a curling, frizzy mop that stuck out in all directions. With some difficulty, I managed to use the bobby pins that were always stuck in the pencil-bag I used for my colored pencils. I usually tried to keep six or seven in there, but there was only three. I needed to make them count.

I did have a ponytail holder among them, and put my most horrible curls into a small bun at the back of my head. I used the three bobby pins to give the top of my hair and elegant bump, and left curly strands and my bangs framing my face. Then I put on cover up and mascara and left it at that. Nothing too drastic.

I just hoped this entourage would be elegant and fancy enough for dinner with the royal prats.

As it turns out—and my luck would have this—it was elegant enough, but not colorful enough. Every lady in the banquet hall was decked in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, gold, silver, burgundy, olive, brown, pink… everything that a rainbow and a bag of skittles would approve of… but no one, I repeat _no one, _wore black.

I felt at least somewhat comforted that all the Narnians, for one, thought I looked the part and complimented me on my choice. But it was clear to us all that upon entering the castle again, I was fit for a funeral, not a festival.

At least, it was clear to me. The men did not notice, and I project too much of my own discomfort on them by claiming they had noticed. I'm certain they didn't. It doesn't really matter to them anyhow.

May the reader give me permission to put myself in fast-forward? The rest that followed was _repetitious _and _extreeeeemely dull. _There was a bit of a ceremony, standing and bowing and speeches (some more sober than others) and a bit of merry-making (in this case, merry-making means some medieval dancing and prizes and riches awarded to the victors).

We partook in none of these, (except Caspian receiving a "small" trunk of wealth for his valiant victories, despite not winning the overall) but were rather shown in to the great feast. While we sat, Caspian had to continuously rise from his seat and return to the ongoing at the front of the room—where there were many introductions and offers for drinks and slaps of congratulations on his sore back—and to be bloomin' honest, I thought I might die of agitation.

I say everything was extremely dull, but it wasn't really. I had nothing to do but sit and observe, but I do find that sort of thing interesting at times. And whenever I felt tempted to complain or sigh with boredom, I reminded myself, _You are in NARNIA. Or near it, anyway. You're in another universe. Count your blessings._

A woman was seated beside me. I hardly noticed her, there were hundreds—literally hundreds—of people in the castle, some eating, some dancing, some drinking, and some making fools of themselves in the gardens under the moonlight.

What I _did _notice, however, was that Caspian was walking towards me to sit beside me—when suddenly his eyes grew wide—and he held up a finger as if to say, _A moment if you please, _and immediately made a hasty U-turn and departed the room.

My mouth dropped open for a moment, and then realized—the woman seated beside me must be the one he was avoiding. _The Duke's daughter._

She had a transparent scarf that did not fare so well in hiding the bruising along her neck. _Floozy, _I thought, chuckling. Her hair was all done up in perfect ringlets, and her pale skin glowed in the poor lighting from the candle chandeliers above. Her gown was a rich purple with lace pouring out of every seam.

When she laughed at the joke of a gentleman beside her, she squinted up her eyes in this frightful appearance that seemed to say, 'I am _so _naïve and precious that you will find me uncommonly endearing, like having a pet Disney princess to laugh at all your incompetent attempts at comedy'.

Suddenly, I could see what Caspian meant. It wasn't the fact that she simply squinted. It was the vacant expression that someone might adapt when they do not understand a subject, and simply use the ignorance as an opportunity to flirt and make someone sexy explain it to you.

Like when that queen bee giggles, and says oh-so-sweetly, "I don't really get how you… you know…" and then the fellow is right behind her, guiding her stance on the golf course or wrapping his arms around her to place her fingers on the correct guitar strings.

I am fairly certain you know what I mean now.

And suddenly, she was squinting at me, sitting on her right, hoping that my presence was going to go unnoticed.

"Oh, hello?" she said in a voice of silk, her eyes squinting up at the sight of me, as if to say, _Just trying to place you—oh yes, you're that ONE girl, aren't you? The one we make fun of on the playground?_

"Evening," I said, trying to keep my voice silky. It clotted.

"Are you…" she fought for my name or title, smiling apologetically.

"Pippin," I said shortly. "And you?"

"Ahaha," she laughed gently in a spray of crystal and sparkling diamond chortles. "Aren't you cute! I'm Gwendolyn. Heir to Galma."

"How kind. It is a pleasure to meet you." _You're the heir, I'm the ocean. Beat that, lady! Ahaha. Get it? Air to Galma? Air… it… rhymes with heir. It's… it's funny in my head. Really. _

"You are the same Pippin that travels with the Narnian company?" _You stole my king!_

"The one and the same, Madam." _He was never yours to be stolen._

"How lucky you are! The King himself of Narnia made his intentions known during the tournament, did he not?" _Pics or it didn't happen._

I feigned a blush. "I knew of the King's intentions before, but I am pleased to support him during such rigorous games." _We've had private conversations. How gleefully insulting._

The Duke's daughter lowered her voice. "Are you the King's mistress, then?"

My face froze, and I was unable to smile calmly as I had planned. "I am no such thing," I said haughtily, losing my cool for a moment. I fought my temper to regain it. "Such is the belief of petty gossipers," I said lightly, remembering to smile as I said it. "Only fools would take seriously such a rumor that disgraces the King's honor." _You're a fool. _"Oh dear," I held up a hand to my mouth in shock, "Madam, please don't mistake my meaning. I know that you would never give weight to such inferences. I do not blame you for the misconception of lesser people."

"Forgive _me,_" le princessa Gwendolyndinburgercheese said softly, "It was _so _rude of me to ask. You must know that I should never pose such a question if I were not worried about such rumors. I will have you know that it has passed the level of the common people and now circulates among the higher courts—where it has reached _my _ears. Fortunately we can see now, he has chosen a young woman of _honor_." The last word was so bitingly, evilly sarcastic, that again it took me off guard. She spat the word honor as if it were dishonorable to say it in such context.

Then she smiled a sickly-sweet smile at me. And when I say sickly sweet, I do not speak of melted chocolate or old Jolly Ranchers in a glove box—I mean Pepto-Bismol sweet.

"You know, I once fancied to want to be his Queen myself," Gwendolyn said wistfully. "I knew that there was no one better suited to his needs for the kingdom, for alliances, for the general comfort and protection for both Narnia and Galma than myself—I am, or, were the natural choice."

"It sounds like you still want to be his Queen," I said in a childish tone, suddenly regressing to an eight year old on a playground. _You still like him, don't you? Na na na na na!_

She was insulted, but bore it well and with another petulant smile. "It is still not out of the realm of possibility."

"What makes you say that?"

"Poor dear," Gwendolyn whispered sympathetically, "You are so young. You do not know how the world works. You are his favorite now, that is for certain…"

"But I'm not—"

"When he grows tired of you, he will simply forget all about you. He will look for someone to be his Queen. And he will look to Galma, his allies. There is still a small chance for me yet." She winked at me, and took a sip from her glass.

"I know for a fact, Madam," I seethed, beautifully calm and silky without the clotting. "That I will _never _be the King's wife and Queen, but I will slumber peacefully with a smile on my face, knowing that you will not be either." _Hi, Pippin, I'm the little voice that tells you when to shut up. You've been ignoring me for a good five minutes now, and I've had it. Shut up._

_Dear little voice—my name is Pippin, and I am overriding you. Shut up._

"I have no reputation to uphold now, according to you," I said with some level of decency. "And I will gladly waste what I have left for the satisfaction of knowing that you _might_ invent the rules and hope I will take the bait and play, _but_ I won't. I will sail away from here and be part of a great adventure far beyond anything your small games can comprehend. I can help save the world. What will you do? Waste hours on pathetic intrigues and hunting the social hierarchy for prey? History isn't going to remember this—find something _meaningful _to do!"

Breathless, I stopped, took a gulp of water, and fought the tightness in my throat.

She only smiled, though her eyes lacked a bit of the bright luster they did before. "I will be married and rule this island one day," she said, a little dreamily. "Whether or not I am married to your precious King is still yet to be determined. I will then bear children, who will not only rule the island in my stead, but lands beyond it. They will do incredible things. I will be a beloved Duchess. But you? _You? _You'll have nothing, and no one."

I tuned into the laughter of happy knights and lords and ladies all around. The twinkle of crystal goblets and the flicker of torchlight. The smell of pies and hams.

"You're a little child fancying herself to be a sailor," said the Duke's daughter, slyly. "You sail treacherous waters. There is no doubt in my mind that nothing waits for you on the horizon."

She pushed her chair back, and drained her glass. "History books await my lineage and the great things I will achieve as Duchess, or perhaps Queen," she said, grandly but quietly, so as not to attract attention from anyone. "If your grave isn't at the bottom of the sea, it is surely unmarked, and most likely forgotten. Think on this. I hope you enjoy the rest of the feast." Flaunting the richness of her dress and the many layers of cloth it was made of, she slipped from the table and disappeared into the crowd.

"I asked for it," I said out loud, fighting the urge to sob, laugh, sing a show tune, or fall asleep. I opted for the show tune.

"_Oh what a circus, oh what a show…_" I sang to myself, trying to dig into the plate of food before me, but losing all appetite quickly. I skipped ahead in the song. "_Instead of government we had a stage, instead of ideas, a prima donnas' rage, instead of help we were given a crowd, she didn't say much, but she said it loud…_"

"I came back not a moment too late," Caspian's cheerful voice hopped over my right shoulder, as he fell into the chair beside me. "I realized that I was still needed in the other room and—well—I happened to notice the occupant on your left—what do you make of her? Do you think me shallow in my choice?"

"Not at all," I said in a funny voice. "You were right. I would question your ability to be a King if you fancied her at all. You were _very _right to say no. I am now convinced that our ruse was a terrible idea, considering that it _does _leave tongues wagging, _but _you're right to not like her very much."

"Was she so terrible?"

I fought for the right words to describe her, and there was none. Well, there may have been some, but they were entirely inappropriate and would have made me deserve no less than what she had already said to me. "She basically told me that I was worthless and I should die at sea," I said, completely cheerfully and happily.

Caspian choked on his drink. "Excuse me?"

"Oh yes," I said brightly, smiling unnaturally. "I'll die alone and there's nothing in my future. She was very convincing and poetic about it all." At Caspian's horrified look, I added, "It was self-defense, you know. She had every right to say so. It was only after I told her that I was glad she'd never marry you that she said anything cruel. I deserved it."

Caspian was still open-mouthed. "You… you said that?"

"I think we're both at fault, here."

"You said that?"

"Regrettably, yes," I stopped smiling, and ceased picking at my plate of feast-ness. "Your Highness, would you mind if I retired early? I know I'm meant to escort you, and all, but… I feel a little drained."

Caspian laughed. "Oh, Pippin. You are a hazardous little sprite. Thank the Lion we do not live in a world where the islanders would simply behead a visitor for cheek."

"I'm a lucky one, I guess."

"I am retiring early as well. Let's just go back to our tents and get some sleep, eh? Tomorrow is sightseeing and some political business, and preparing the ship for the next leg of voyage. There'll be plenty to do—outdoors, mostly. There won't be any of this… this…" he gestured to the busy room. Our attention both went to the most handsome Calormene knight, who had drunk far too much, and was causing a row near the front of the room while laughing and swinging his fists clumsily.

"Agreed, your Majesty," I said, stifling a yawn.

He rose, and pulled out my chair, offering me his arm. "You're not worthless," he said quietly, and it was all I needed to hear.

We spoke not a word as we walked back to the tents, and we bid goodnight in such a way that would seem this pair of friends had not dealt with malignant people and sneaky political romances all day long.

"Goodnight, Pippin!"

"Goodnight, your Majesty! Sweet dreams!"

"And you!"

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**Oh my, I can hardly believe how long it has taken me to finish this chapter. I am very sorry for the delay. With the dialogue, there was a lot of thought processing and meaty descriptions to try and construct, but I am satisfied. It is accurate to what occurred. I'm sure you will all be pleased to hear that the Duke's daughter did—eventually—marry quite happily, and had plenty of children. I've yet to discover what is on my horizon, but I expect it is full of wonderful things…**

**Read and review, pretty please? **

**(your replies at the bottom of the page!)**

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**NEXT CHAPTER:**

**Finally leaving the molasses shores of Galma, free again in the Narnian ocean—but what is this? A plague in Terebinthia? And why does this Terebinthia ship look suspiciously like a pirate ship?**

**All of the above may sound like a severe digression, but it is all Lewis's previous research. There are, indeed, pirates.**

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**Softballgirl: **Happy Thanksgiving to you too, my dear! I hope it was a very blessed one!

**andreaNguyen: **Edmund is coming soon! :D I am SO excited! SOON SOON SOON! I finally found my Edmund on my college campus; he definitely helps my muse!

**Madfantic: **No worries =) I'm working on two Doctor Who fics, both star the Tenth regeneration, who is by far my favorite!

**Suuki-Aldrea: **Having lots of fun with the Doctor Who fic, and I LOVE me some Captain Jack as well!

**Penspot: **Oh hey, I'm sorry, my website has been deactivated. I now operate entirely on my Pippin Strange facebook page (the only 'Pippin Strange' writer page on facebook, easy to find just by typing the name into the search bar). Thanks for your review :)

**Skywalker05: **Your reviews are ALWAYS the best! Thank-you so much for your thoughts! But I'm not sure who the atheist character is—the Duke's daughter, for example, is modeled after one of those court members who really has nothing better to do that be frivolous with male admirers and flirt her way through life. I don't think she has much of a concept of a higher power, but much like the Christians during the renaissance age—do not question whether or not there IS one, because then, it was "fact" to them. Therefore taken for granted, possibly ignored.

For the first question—there has definitely been some soul searching. Sometimes I'm embarrassed to go back and read my older things because I really was that socially awkward and would get carried away. It's a forced self-reflection and oftentimes, writing myself a certain way constantly makes me want to change. I'm always on the task of self-improvement.

Another question: Aemon is not canon, I've made him up, but I'm sure it's safe to say that Lewis invented the crew of the ship, I am just trying to flesh out those characters and give them names and personalities :)

And last: The Tenth Doctor :) He's my favorite! And I haven't gotten as far as Matt Smith yet, though I'm a few episodes away…

Thank-you, as ever, for your thought-provoking reviews. I enjoy them immensely.

**Insane Anarchist-akaAllie: **HIII! (waves back) I am so happy to meet you! I love it when lurkers… un-lurk? :D You are SO sweet, thank-you for your kind thoughts… it really helps me want to keep writing… thanks for the encouragement! I am astonished and grateful.

As for your questions, I will be joining the Tenth Doctor. And I am writing a second fic that stars my best friend Jessica, who will ALSO join the Tenth Doctor—but whereas mine is a self-insert, hers is an OC (like a companion for a Christmas special only!). I think you will really enjoy her literary qualities as a companion, her personality is super sarcastic and highly intelligent :) Please come again, Allie, I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter! :)

**FairyPirate: **Oh my—I know right? College just sucks away SO much creative time! It's been most difficult, I hardly wrote anything at all my sophomore and junior year… but it's definitely good to get back into the swing of things. And both of the longer-chaptered Merlin fics, the Mirror Crack'd and An Oregonian Student—those shall be updated, I am hoping before Christmas!

**Alexandraya: **Definitely the Tenth Doctor :) And I wish you could come too! I wish all my reviewers could join me aboard the Tardis! Unfortunately, not knowing any of you in person limits my writing… I would not be able to give your characters fully rounded personalities any justice. You'd find me a very poor writer indeed ;)

**Narniafan96: **Grr yeah! No green mist for us! And yes the Pevensies and the Scrubb will be aboard soon, possibly as soon as the conclusion of chapter ten. And I shall keep the islands in book order—I am referring to the text CONSTANTLY as a timeline and guide. I want to be faithful to Lewis's story. Even though the movie was a brilliant visual and emotional representation of the story, the plot, I think, took too many liberties. But I still loved it, and I'll just use the book for my backdrop.

**ZombieKillerLevi: **There will be a bit of a fight, but with words and a good ol' tongue lashing! Thank-you for your compliment, I am so pleased you liked the chapter. And I think that's a pretty good idea… I didn't think about a rift in time but I think that is very clever and works with the Doctor stories well. And definitely the Tenth Doctor. David Tennant is my hero, and I love writing his dialogue.

**Sarlovessoccer: **I am going to compromise and definitely heed your advice—I am going to finish the Doctor Who fic before I begin posting it so that it doesn't interfere with my regular Strange Things writing :) thanks for your thoughts!

**Colbub: **My writing has been literally running away from me and trying to mess with some kind of chemistry between Caspian and I—this is definitely not a Mary Sue! I refuse to participate in a Narnian romance… I think it's just in my nature, I guess, to express myself in certain ways and inspire a little flirtatiousness, but I am desperately holding the reins back, like, "Whoa there, Nelly, what the devil are ya doin'?" I shalt not possess romantic feelings for Caspian or Edmund, I won't let myself!

**Pureangel86: **I'm gona sneaky-sneak my way into the undocumented time after the Christmas special when the Tenth Doctor first meets Donna, when he is on his own ;)

**Scissorhero: **I am chuckling about how much you ship me with fictional characters. You are a delightful fiend! I love you! Lol.

**Locked in a Stony Tower: **By the way, I am still in love with your penname. Lol. Realistically, I am not fond of selfish bratty people, so to react to Eustace passively might not happen. I may actually hit him with a literal two-by-four. (Haha, not really.) But I think knowing what happens to him in the end MIGHT soothe things a little. Then again, I don't know how Eustace is going to react to ME… o.O


	10. On the Island

**Dear Reviewers:**

**Oh my heavens, so many positive reviews! I'm afraid I've begun a hate movement against poor Gwendolyn. I suppose if you must beat her up, beat her up gently! ;)**

**So lately, things are crazy busy in school. It's my last semester of college and I graduate in April. So I'm sure any of you in school can understand the mild difficulty there is in writing regularly, but I'll do my best! =)**

**Pip**

**PS: Also, can I just say, I love you guys? I know we've never actually met or anything, but your continual support is just… amazing. I've been feeling really down lately about ever getting my original work published, but you guys give me hope that **_**someone **_**out there other than family think I'm an OK writer. Support on fanfiction from my readers really translates into my work as an aspiring author, so for that, thank-you very very much. You all inspire me! **

**PPS: If anyone is confused about the geography or MANY characters in this chapter, please refer to the Pippin Strange facebook page. I posted pictures for the imagery :)**

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…

**Strange Things Happen**

**By Pippin Strange**

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…

**Chapter Ten,**

**On the Island**

The marketplace of Galma, already bustling by 8 a.m., was far more sophisticated than I expected. I guess I always thought all island towns were like Tortuga, so cue the mental slap of stereotyping erroneously.

The streets were made of stone, twisting and turning over the undulating terrain. The structure of the downtown appeared to maneuver over and among each round hill, instead of cutting through it like most city grids. The buildings were made of that scrubby sandstone, with open porches and wall-less shelters to sell their goods from. The smell of the smoke wafting from open bakeries and fish fryers made every one of us stop, take a whiff, and sigh enviously. People approached us on the streets and offered their congratulations for Caspian's performance in the tournament, and sometimes brought out plates of "mistakes" from their baked goods. Aemon was more than happy to help them "get rid of" three crisply burnt tarts. This time, he remembered to give one of his finds to Tusk.

None of us really had the money to shop, and none of us really had shopping on the mind anyway. Sightseeing was all that we required to be perfectly satisfied in our visit.

Caspian, Drinian (captain), Rhince (first mate; whom I hadn't seen very much of, as he was usually at the helm or giving orders below), Rynelf (second mate) Reepicheep, and some of the long-time crew members that he declared to be "officers" (one being a minotaur called Orpheus, and another being Jekyll) were all with the Duke of Galma, discussing a few political matters. Caspian did not mean to keep us in the dark, but none of us really knew what they were meeting about. And according to Tusk, it was probably something boring—like renewing trade agreements for another fifteen years. As long as it wasn't war or something horrible like that, I was content to not care about the politics.

I was more interested in the beach, and ecstatic when Aemon suggested we check it out. The group of us meandered out of the village, made our way down a stone stairway that ran along the face of a bluff, and descended into the beach. Instantly, the sharp wind already felt crisper and warmer than it did within the town.

The sand was white and hot to the step, but the ocean had a gentle tide and turquoise-blue hues. Among those that walked along the shore were Aemon, Tusk, and Baron, who I have already introduced to you.

We were joined for a pleasant walk by the majority of the crew, anyone who wasn't an officer attending the meeting.

I met more sailors I hadn't been introduced to (properly) yet. I shall try and introduce you to them, as well as I can… I met them so sporadically—sometimes speaking to them off and on all day—only to learn their name from Aemon several hours later. Due to the unconventional way of "meeting" those I traveled with, I shall list the following crew members that walked along the beach, talking and laughing, and dreaming about what adventures the future might hold for us. I hope this shall provide some context, so that it does not appear crew members are just popping out of the woodwork when they've been there all along.

There was Rob, the young tenor lad who sang about the lost love and her empty glove during the deck-party. He was of a medium build, tanned by the sunlight, and had long hair pulled back in a ribbon. If only he had a three-cornered hat, he might have looked like he came from a Sons of Liberty protest in 1770s Boston.

There was Klaire, our crows-nest watchman. The man so slender that he could have been a pencil and I might not have noticed. I think the lack of "2B" written on his forehead was the give-away. His face was beardless and his face looked a little starved, but I have to say that my favorite feature was his crooked nose (broken far too many times, he said.)

There was Ave, the sailor who was trying to sleep while I sketched Aemon's portrait; he was short, bearded, burly, and wore a headband that unnecessarily kept back short tufts of red hair. If I had to describe him without knowing him very well, I'd say he was suffering from short-person's syndrome. If it was bigger than him, he wanted to challenge it to a boxing match.

Neil, a large, portly fellow, was the one who teased me about the _Dawn Treader_ size, before we boarded for the first time. He didn't talk so much as he laughed. He chuckled, snorted, chortled, jested, guffawed—every type of laugh, he had it, and executed it more often than he spoke. This wouldn't be odd, except that he hardly smiled before laughing. He'd be frowning, when all of a sudden, a laugh would jump out and frighten everyone half to death.

I've mentioned him before, but there was also Flanagan, the fiddler. He was lithe and energetic, like a bird, but strong and nimble—with a tendency, I'd noticed, to not wear shoes, but rather a purple scarf tied around one knee. He was about twenty-six, but looked fourteen. It wasn't just me who had a "baby face", thank-you very much.

The one that I immediately fancied—not romantically, mind you, but the same inspired awe that most people have when meeting their heroes and inspirations—was a faun, the only other hooved creature (other than the minotaur) on board. His name was Pan, ironically. His blondish coat, small pointed beard, and gleaming eyes were, for the most part, the only specific things I observed about him. He kept to himself, and I hadn't the opportunity to strike up conversation yet. He seemed to be the introvert of the group.

Last but not least, there was Bastian, a gentlemen who was I think almost eighty years old but described himself as "a young sixty". He kept a pipe firmly clenched between his teeth at all times, but I never saw it lit. His hair, white and wispy, seemed to be constantly floating away from his head from static electricity. He called it his "lightening hair" due to Narnia being somewhat behind in scientific terminology.

I have sadly neglected the other members of the crew (about eight others, I should think), but truthfully, some of them just didn't do a lot of talking, and many of them were night-watchmen.

So when they were working, I was sleeping, and when they were sleeping, I tried not to disturb them. I hoped that walking about to see the sights would present an opportunity to learn their names and spend time with them, but they chose to stay behind with the ship and oversee the replenishing of supplies.

Aemon, Rob, Ave, Flanagan, and I… well, and King Caspian, for that matter… were clearly the younger ones of the group, all in our young-twenties. The age difference showed, in a way. We were prone to talk, laugh, and argue, much louder and more carefree than the others. Drinian, Rhince, Rynelf, Pan, and Reepicheep were in mid-thirties (I think—perhaps fauns and mice age differently). Tusk, Baron, Jekyll, Orpheus, Bastian, and Neil made up the elder generation, though they joked and laughed among themselves as much as the younger folks—just with more decorum.

It was different, naturally, _being_ there and knowing them. They were not just members of a list. They were the roots and branches of the _Dawn Treader_. For however long I'd be there, they were an honorary family.

_SPLAT! _

Without warning, Aemon chucked a bundle of seaweed at my head. It landed against my shoulder with a stinky slap, slid off, and rolled back into the surf.

"I am going to kill you," I said with a clenched smile, looking around the ground for a good weapon. I found nothing. Lacking the means to do any better, I scooped up a handful of wet sand, let out a war whoop, and tossed it in his direction. It landed on the back of his calf.

"Eek!" he squawked. "Cold!"

"Serves you right!" I retorted.

"Children," Tusk moaned. "If I'dda known you two would act like a brother an' a sister who can't get along, Idd'a left one of ya on board!"

"Obviously not me," I said innocently.

"Here!" declared Ave suddenly. "I'll show 'im!" He took off after a startled Aemon. We watched as their figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance, till Ave took a flying leap and took him down. An impressive fight was probably occurring, but the cloud of sand prevented us from betting on the victor.

"I should employ Ave to do this on a daily basis," Tusk said dryly. "Then he'd have an excuse for that behavior."

"He's a not a bad chap, though," protested Rob. "You know we grew up together, we did, and I know him to be of the bravest sort."

"Well, you grew," corrected Neil. "Ave will look like me in a few years, likely as not." He patted his own, round stomach. This inspired a few bursts of laughter from the others.

"Ooh, look!" cried Klaire suddenly, picking something up off the ground.

We turned to look, and Klaire was holding out a live crab—legs twitching and claws snapping. This garnered interest from Tusk only, who wanted to know if it could be killed and cooked.

I, however, shrieked loudly and darted away, circumnavigating the group and walking on the far side of them—far away from something alive and crawly.

"Not taken with the creatures, are we?" asked Pan suddenly.

I was so astonished that he started the conversation that I stuttered for a moment. "Oh. Ha. Um—well—well, I don't like creepy crawly ones. Like spiders and crabs. I don't like being pinched."

Pan casually glanced over at Klaire. "Aye, that would remove a whole finger. Best to stay away if it makes you jumpy."

I fought a smile. "I'm not very brave."

"Don't worry," Pan replied. "There will be important times to be brave. This is not one of them."

His words sounded prophetic. _Thank-you, Dumbledore, _I thought. _What about the island of nightmares? When we get to that—no one is brave. _

"Thanks," I said finally, smiling at him.

Pan fell silent, and I felt strangely satisfied with our very short conversation. Slowly but surely—I was determined to make these sailors my friends.

I wanted them to like me, as much as I already respected and liked them.

We had finally caught up to Aemon and Ave, sitting across from each other against two separate logs. They were both breathing hard and sending each other swift glares.

"Oi!" cried Flanagan as we approached. "Who won?"

They both shouted "I DID!" and the rest of us laughed too hard to hear their evidence or arguments. We simply passed them by, and when they finally brushed the sands from their clothes, they followed.

"Are we looking for something?" Bastian asked presently.

"We're enjoying a nice walk, that's what we're doing," replied Baron.

"But… why exactly?" Bastian said critically. The man was clearly an old sea-salt, who spent most of his life on the sea and didn't think there was much use for land.

"Enjoying nature?" Flanagan offered. "I ought to have brought my fiddle."

Aemon and Ave both groaned and protested.

"The nature I know is a wide expanse of ocean," retorted Bastian. "Sand belongs at the bottom of the ocean, not next to it. Or being swept by a broom in castle corners with the dust and the spider webs. Ain't natural."

"If you can't keep up, old man, you could just say so," Baron's merry eyes twinkled.

"Who are you calling old man?" snapped Bastian.

"You, good sir! You are my senior by twenty-some years, more than that, likely as not."

"When your bones and creaking and falling apart, see if I give you any sympathy," Bastian waved a hand.

"I thought you said you were a young sixty," I interjected innocently.

Bastian fumed. "On the sea I'm a young sixty! On dry ground, I feel my years!"

"Want to go back?" asked Neil kindly, who was feeling the distance we were walking anyhow. He mopped a bit of a sweat from his balding head.

"Actually, we should go back," Pan said quietly. "We do need to see to the supplies. Our night crawlers are going to be exhausted."

"He's right!" Tusk exclaimed. "You elderly gentlemen can battle it out to your hearts content anywhere."

"Elderly!" scoffed Bastian and Baron at the same time.

"I think he means pruny," Ave whispered to Neil, and Neil shook with silent laughter.

"You'll have to get your sea legs again," Rob told Aemon, patting him kind-heartedly on the back. "And you, too," he said this to me. "Sorry—what was your name again?"

"Pippin," I replied.

"And this was your first time on a ship?" Rob questioned.

"Indeed!"

"Why'd you come, anyhow?" Ave asked.

"I'm a friend of Caspian," I said. "I mean. King Caspian. We're old friends. Sort of."

"Are you like one of them monarchs?" Neil asked. Baron and Bastian both looked up with interest—stories of the Pevensies were probably well-drummed into their heads, being old enough to remember the days of Caspian the ninth, our Caspian's father.

"No no no," I said quickly. "I mean. I know them—sort of. I was more or less their assistant, more of an acquaintance than friend. We came to Caspian's aid during the rebellion. Or at least, I tried to."

"Were you a water boy during the battles or something?" asked Flanagan. "Er—water-girl?"

"Like the person who delivers water to the troops?" I asked.

"Aye… dangerous position, but it keeps you behind your own lines."

"Uh…" I hesitated. "No… I was part of the crew that raided Miraz's castle. And I more or less tried to fight in the final battle that occurred after the challenge of single-combat."

This was met with silence.

"I don't believe it," Ave scoffed.

I laughed. "Sorry, Mr. Ave… you may ask the King if you don't believe me."

"Were you terribly frightened?" pressed Flanagan.

"Of course I was," I exclaimed. "I was left behind after the retreat. But Phonnow—that's a griffin—got me out. After that I managed to get back to Aslan's How… only to be snatched up by Miraz's troops. They were trying to use me as leverage to make sure the duel went in his favor. I kind of escaped when the fighting broke out."

"I think I've met that griffin," Klaire nodded.

"No offense, Miss," Rob said. "But you don't seem like the warrior type at all!"

"Are you a witch?" asked Ave with a snicker.

"No, and I'm not a warrior," I protested. "I'm a very bad fighter. I think I only killed one or two people on accident. I just swing the sword around like it's a loaf of bread. I'm not athletic or strong. But I'm fast and I jump out of the way pretty quickly."

"I'd say it's a miracle that you're with us," Flanagan exclaimed.

"I should have died… thrice," I agreed. "But I didn't. Aslan was there with us. I mean… not fully till after, but, I'm certain he kept me safe."

"Of course he did," Baron spoke up. "The Lion never leaves us alone."

"So you've met him?" Bastian asked.

"I did, yeah," I said sadly. "But it seems so long ago that I can hardly remember what happened. I can refer back to my magical book, but it's not the same as hearing his voice."

A few eyebrows raised at the mention of a magical book, but no one took it seriously.

"If you don't mind my asking," Rob said. "Why did the King let you accompany us?"

I thought back to our discussion at the breakfast table… whether or not he really thought I might be possibly sent by Aslan to give him aide, or if was just lying to Drinian so that I could come along.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "We weren't close. I mean, we weren't dear friends or anything. Maybe he thought he owed me."

"It's not a huge leap," Klaire added. "You fought for him and nearly got yourself killed, he's let you come on this voyage."

"Sure," Rob replied, "But why would she want to come?"

"I'm from the same world as the Four Monarchs, from Narnia's golden age," I explained. "If you could see my world, you'd understand why I'd leave everything for the chance at one adventure."

"Who wouldn't want to come to Narnia?" Pan said quietly. "Silly boys. Narnia is a wondrous place. Is it so unbelievable for a young soldier from the rebellion to wish for a holiday here?"

"I'm not a soldier," I protested.

"Ah," Pan tapped the side of his nose. "But you are. A small one."

"A clumsy one," I interjected.

"Alright—a clumsy, small soldier," Pan gave a brisk nod. "And our King is clearly fond of you. And I think you underestimate his trust. Would a King not stage a courtship with someone he trusted?"

I choked on embarrassed laughter. "He was just being a stubborn old… potato."

Tusk thought this was funny, but he was the only one.

"You mean that whole tournament romance thing was staged?" Neil burst out suddenly. "All this time I thought—someone should have let me in on it!"

Aemon and Flanagan both burst out laughing, and Ave angrily handed a handful of coins to Aemon.

"That's not fair," Ave muttered. "Pan gave it away."

"You were betting on how long I'd be gullible?" Neil raged. "You insolent weasels!"

"Sorry, had I known you didn't know, I would have told you, so that you would know," I gave him a sympathetic smile. "But I guess now you know. There is nothing between the King and I except my upmost respect and friendship."

By this time, the white-gold sands had curved around, and we were facing the port. At the end of the crescent shape, the hills rose steeply in cliffs, where Greece-esque houses dotted the upper cliff faces like a city built in stacks. Below were the docks, at which the proud _Dawn Treader _lay in peaceful wait. She was easily spotted because of the rich purple sail tied carefully around the cross-piece of the mast. Other ships, some much bigger but less grand, dotted the choppy waters along the rows of docks. It gave the deep blue sky a crowded, mast and sails-filled pattern.

Unlike the inner town, the businesses and booths along the water front were made of wood and dark stones, water sloshing under the boardwalks, sometimes wave spray coming up between the wood-slats. It smelled of fish and smoke—in the best possible sense.

We came up out of the beach onto the crest of a sandy hill, and descended into an area littered with gravel instead of sand. There were small groups of children everywhere digging for clams. Tusk ran right over to them and began to haggle for their catches, offering them his money right there before they could even take their finds to their stores.

On the other side of the gravel shore, a pair of crooked, steep wooden stairs led up to the main boardwalk. We went up single file, Aemon staying behind with Tusk to help him out with his bartering. I clutched the railing for dear life—the stairs seemed much too rickety for my taste.

We came into the port and split up. I didn't think twice about exploring. Rob, Baron, and Flanagan returned to the ship to help the night crew—or night crawlers, as they called them—load supplies for the next leg of our journey. Bastian, Neil, Klaire, and Pan went on down the boardwalk, examining the crates before they were loaded on board by a pulley.

I went through a small maze of wooden shacks and structures, selling bulked goods, freshly caught fish, and repairing material for ships. I ran into Orpheus, the minotaur, and Jekyll as they were returning to the ship from their meeting.

"How'd it go?" I asked Jekyll, with a nervous smile up at the tall, muscular Orpheus.

"Boring as the Calormene desert," Jekyll yawned.

"And how do you fare?" asked Orpheus in his deep, growling voice.

"Very well, thank-you," I replied. "About what time are we leaving?" I hadn't brought my purse off-board, so I had no desire to return to our little tent-city by the tournament grounds. I felt much better among the sailors near the ship—more secure, I suppose—among the strangers and crowds.

"Hm," Orpheus gave a deep, throaty sigh. "I should think an hour or so? Do not fear, we won't leave you behind."

"Oh, thanks for that," I giggled. "I'm just going to look around a bit."

"Enjoy yourself," Jekyll smiled. "If you happened to see Rynelf, tell him that he'd better make it on board before the Rhince, the Captain, or the King. He's supposed to be overseeing the crates."

"I think Bastian and Neil and…" I forgot a name for a moment. "Uh—Klaire and Pan, too… I think they're taking care of it. But if I see him, I'll tell him."

Jekyll thanked me, and he and the great black, shaggy-haired minotaur moved on down the crowded walk.

I began to look more closely at the street wares. I spotted one, small establishment that seemed to be selling jewelry. I stepped under the awning and smiled at the woman behind the cart.

"Good morning," the woman said, her toothy smile yellow within a tanned set of wrinkled features. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"I don't have any money," I confessed. "I'm just admiring!" I touched a pretty leather string necklace with a simple blue stone hanging from it. "That's lovely. What is it?"

"It's just a rock," laughed the woman. "I don't sell fine jewelry here! That's best found in the palace or inland… most of these are found by the children that go clamming."

"Oh, I saw them."

"Did you see a little one in red?"

"I might have, I'm not sure."

"Well, that one is my daughter. She found this one here," the woman pulled out a small chain with a bright copper scallop hanging from it. "This here was an empty shell, and my husband cast it in copper at the coinery, and I hung it from the chain. Beautiful, isn't it?" she held it out for me. "It would look nice on you, won't it?" she looked at my attire—the dark blue trousers and white, flowing shirt, and the boots from Trumpkin. "Perhaps with a dress for an evening out?"

"I wish," I replied, "But I really don't have any money. I'm sorry. It's beautiful."

"Ach, well, there's no harm in trying!"

"Tell your daughter she's very good at finding pretty things."

"I will, I will," the woman replaced the necklace. She looked over my shoulder, and her smile dropped. Her face darkened with something—not quite fear, but intense dislike.

I followed her gaze. Behind me was a tall brute of a man—dressed in dark clothing, a thick blue overcoat, a wide-brimmed feather hat, with a curved sword hanging on his belt. He had a shrewd nose, no beard, pierced ears, and striking eyes that glistened when he smiled pleasantly.

"Morning, ladies," he said jovially. "Shopping for treasures, are we?"

_Pirates of the Galmian? _I thought, only a little worried.

"It's been awhile," said the older woman. "I heard your ship went down."

"Alas, a terrible rumor."

"Pity," she said darkly. "And I was _so _hoping for a nice morning."

"Um… I think I'm gona go," I said hastily, backing away.

"Don't let me keep you from your morning chatter," said the man, waving his hand at me. "I'm just passing through."

"That's… nice," I said shortly. "But I can't stay and 'chatter' anyhow. Goodbye."

I wasn't sure why I felt uncomfortable, but I didn't question my instinct. The woman's reaction to his presence, alone, told me enough. I began to walk away quickly. When I rounded the corner and came to a different section of street wares, I felt safer, but continued on anyway. Around a few more corners and I was appropriately lost among the crowds of other customers and sellers, I felt like I could peruse further without any problems.

I came to a linens cart, and while I wouldn't be interested normally, I did find a pretty scarf to admire. I was in the midst of examining the embroidery, when I heard a voice say, "Ah! You again."

My stomach sunk, and I looked at the same man from before, noting that—unlike three minutes ago—he was armed with a cutlass. Or maybe I just hadn't noticed it?

He stood nearby, casually leaning against a post, as if he'd been there for hours.

"Can I help you?" I asked quickly.

"Why yes, you can," he said, standing straighter and walking towards me. "I was wondering if you could point out which ship is the _Dawn Treader_? I'm a devoted admirer and can't seem to spot it."

"What makes you think I'd know which one it is?" I asked. "I don't know anything about ships." _If I find out that this creep is the Duke's manservant or something, I'm going to feel pretty stupid…_

The man laughed. "I must frighten you—I'm sorry," his smile, in a flash, was replaced by a threatening, angry frown. It was only there a split second before the pleasant smile returned. "I can't see any reason why you'd lie to me, seeing as you're one of the crew members, and all."

"I'm not a crew member of anything," I told the truth, obviously. Anything to get him to grow bored with me and leave. "If you can tell me why you need to know, maybe I can pass the information along to someone who CAN help you?"

"Smooth," replied the man. "Very smooth. I'm making an inquiry on behalf of a friend. He wants to know when the departure is."

"What departure?" I asked stupidly.

"Or perhaps their next stop?" he pressed, slyly.

"Clearly, I can't help you," I moved around the cart, putting it between him and I. "Find someone else to ask."

His smile dropped. "I'd rather ask you," he said, without an ounce of pleasantry to his voice.

"Why?" I asked harshly.

"Is your next stop Terebinthia?" he asked suddenly, without answering my question. He skirted the edge of the cart to stand face to face, but I quickly went round it again, keeping the cart between us.

"I don't know what you're saying," I said loudly, tapping my ear. "I'm partly deaf, I can't hear you!"

I whirled quickly and began to run. Not because I felt that I was really close to any danger since I was in a crowded marketplace, but something felt wrong about the whole conversation. I didn't like the man, he felt dangerous.

I pushed past people, trying my best to not ram into anyone. I wasn't running very fast, just making a speedy getaway, using the crowds to my advantage.

I stopped near the walk where I had run into Jekyll and Orpheus, and looked around for someone I knew. I didn't see anyone. I suddenly felt very unsafe—what dumb brain thought that just because it was a port in a magical land didn't mean it wouldn't have unsavory characters like anywhere else?

"Hey, little rat," said a voice. "I just had a few questions, is all!"

Over the heads of the passerby's, that man stared directly with a wolfish, narrowed gaze. He began to push through the crowd, making a beeline right for me.

I let out a scared yelp and abruptly turned, running right into Captain Drinian.

"Whoa there," he exclaimed with a smile. "Careful!"

_Curse every single damsel in distress ever written, _I thought, panicked. _I don't care if I'm a weak female. I need the protection of a tall man RIGHT NOW._

I clutched Drinian's arm and yelped, breathless, "There's some guy—he's chasing me—I don't know why!"

Drinian's response was brilliant. He looked down at my white-knuckled hand clasping his forearm, and then placed his other hand over mine. "There there," he said in a deadly tone, "You're safe with me." With a cold-eyed glare, he looked over the top of my head at my pursuer.

At the sight of Drinian, the brute stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is the meaning of this?" Drinian said, his voice threatening.

"Meanin' of what, mate?" the man said, his face growing passive and surprised. "Just passing through. Don't want no trouble."

_Oh, you manipulative dawg, you. _

He made a wide circle around us, eyes examining Drinian as if he were a caught specimen for an insect study, till he made it to the other side of the street and disappeared down an alley.

I kept my vice-like grip on Drinian's arm. "He, uh, kept following me, and asking me questions about the _Dawn Treader, _like when we were leaving, or where we were going... I denied being on the ship. He yelled at me called me a little rat and chased me. It was really creepy."

"You were wise to find me directly," Drinian said calmly, detaching my arm. "I can't say for certain, but the man might have been a mercenary and was vying for our navigational information." He began to lead me back through the throngs, keeping one hand on my shoulder with a steady grip. "They'll often find a member of the crew who can't hold their tongue—to find out when they'll be on the open ocean and which direction they are headed—if they think it'll be worth their while."

We spotted the man again—this time, he was skulking in the entrance of another alley, his eyes following our progress down the street like a wolf on the prowl. He spotted us, and stepped backwards into the shadows. I can only assume he was still there, in the darkness, watching us without us watching him.

"Bloody pirate," I snapped.

"He's still following us," Drinian said crisply. "Best keep a weather eye out for any other suspicious activity. I want you to board the ship and stay there. I'm going to inform the King."

"Yessir," I said, and we finally stepped down into the boardwalk again. The water sloshed underneath, more friendly-looking sailors walked by, and even the stronger smell of fish was welcome. I exhaled with relief.

Drinian waved Pan over. "Escort Pippin to the ship," he said quietly. "We've had a bit of a run in with man who was _far _too curious about our activities and schedule. Do you know where the King is?"

"He's on his way now, with the Duke," said Pan, "Their progress is a bit slower… there is a bit of a farewell committee with a few last-minute requests for their King."

"Excellent, thank-you," Drinian passed me off and disappeared.

Pan and I began walking—him with quick, nimble steps, and me, trotting to keep up. We were about the same height, but he was faster.

"All right then, Pippin?" Pan asked.

"All right, Pan," I replied.

"Very good," Pan nodded, and we didn't say another word to each other. I kind of liked it. I mean—if I had to talk to any Narnian creature, it would be a faun—but on the other hand, I often enjoy silence. If I had to share silence with any Narnian creature, again, I'd probably pick a faun.

I finally felt safe when I walked up the ramp to the ship. We had taken a longboat to shore, but now the tide was in, and the _Dawn Treader _could sit afloat right beside the end of the dock. The ramp was a little too narrow for me to _not _assume I was going to fall off and plummet to my death—but as usual, I didn't plummet to my death. I didn't even do any plummeting.

I steadied myself on the deck, getting accustom to the rocking motion again. It had been fairly easy to become used to the land, and now, I'd reel around like a drunk for a few hours or so.

I latched onto the railing and looked down at the docks again, watching the crew members laugh and work, boxing up victuals and sending up the crates with pulleys and platforms. Those on this side of the job—the night crawlers, as the others called them—heaved at ropes and brought the crates up, and then began taking them below to the storerooms below deck. I spotted our unfriendly buccaneer farther down the dock, casually tipping his hat to anyone who glanced his way. He almost nearly approached Ave with another hat-tip, but Drinian and the King and their promenade appeared in his line of sight. They were still a good thirty yards or so away, but the man made a speedy flight anyhow.

Before he disappeared, he looked up at the ship, and tipped his hat towards me.

I bit my thumb at him, hoping the Shakespearian insult would translate to this universe's culture. To my surprise, it did. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drew together in a bushy knot, and he bit his thumb in reply. Then he disappeared into shadows yet again.

Whelp, if I wasn't worried about making any enemies, I should worry about it now.

I glanced around, and saw Rob working on inventory in a small pocketbook, sitting on bench against the railing. I walked crookedly towards him and sat down beside him.

"I feel very useless," I said. "Give me something to do."

Rob handed me the pocketbook straight away. "I was just asking Aslan for rescue. Follow me."

For the next twenty minutes, I followed Rob, jotting down the supply and it's quantity as he spoke them out loud. Sometimes I had no clue _what _I was writing (regular fish-names, for them, sounded completely exotic to me) but we made a good team. It's the same type of work I did at my University job, so I was entirely in my element.

"Did you hear about the pirate?" I asked eventually.

"Pirate?"

"Aye," I put on my best pirate voice. "I be walkin' like any ol' cust-o-mer in th' market place, ye know, an' some ol' salty buccaneer be pressin' me fer information. But I be a smart ol' sailor an' set sail righ' away. Th' nasty ol' villain call'd be a bilge rat an' chased me down, but lucky fer me I saved my neck by runnin' right to th' Cap'n."

Rob blinked. "Well—_that's _terrifying. What accent is that?"

"That's how pirates talk where I come from," I said solemnly.

"They sound uneducated," Rob said flippantly.

"Perhaps they are… I don't really know."

"Hello!"

I turned and saw Caspian for the first time in a day or so. I'd almost forgotten his presence. I don't know why…

Even as I thought it, I figured it out. Once away from Caspian's exuded royalty and charms, I was acting more like myself. That freaking pirate voice? I wouldn't have done that in front of Caspian—for fear he would think me the same, immature clown that met him at age eighteen.

I felt at ease with the crew, and didn't _try _so hard. But with Caspian, something about _him _made me act like an exaggeration of my believed mature, intelligent self. I could see that now. I was myself with the crew, and very proper, witty, and flirtatious with Caspian. _This should stop now, _I thought with a little regret. _I need to quit giving myself airs and just get on with it. _

This epiphany didn't cost me more than a few seconds, but the delay was obvious.

"Hello?" repeated Caspian, unsure.

"Hi, King," I squawked, cringing. _If I break now, might as well quit cold-turkey. _

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," Caspian said kindly.

"I'm fine. I was scared when the guy was chasing me, but as you can see, I'm quite safe. And working!" I added quickly. "I want to earn my keep!"

"Working?" Caspian looked at Rob questionably.

Rob nodded. "Someone had to do it. She volunteered."

"Well, if you don't mind," Caspian shrugged. "But the young lady doesn't have to—"

"Oh, hang this whole 'young lady' business," I snapped, "Hang the… codes. They're more like guidelines anyway. I want to be a crew member now. And I don't intend on wearing a dress for the rest of the trip! I'm not made out of glass and I've been playing the part for too long."

"Sounds like the old Pippin," Caspian remarked.

"It sounds like _me_," I corrected. "I'm probably not as insane as I used to be—thank the Lion—but I've been trying too hard to impress you."

"Impress me?" Caspian exclaimed. Rob took this moment to duck away quietly.

"I wanted you to think I was mature," I explained.

"Well… you are. By comparison."

"Sure. But it wasn't enough to just be more mature. I had to act all… stiff. Like a girl."

"Well… you are a girl."

"Of course I am, but…"

"I'm sorry, sorry," Caspian nodded. "I see your point. I didn't mean to act like I wanted you to defend yourself."

"It was fun being your date to the tournament feast," I said. "It was fun to wear dresses and act important. I liked turning heads—it really fluffed up my ego. But I don't need anything to add to my vanity anymore."

"What can I do to help?"

"First, I'm not your guest and I don't want special favors. Second, I'm not going to try and impress you anymore. I'm your subject and your friend both. Third…" I trailed off. "I think that might be it. For now."

"Let me know if there is more on your mind," Caspian said. "I didn't mean to offend you by calling you a young lady."

"You didn't offend me at all! It just… sparked a fuse to verbal frenzy. I'm not as grown up as I'd like to be. I've got too much to learn."

"But we all do, Pippin." Caspian held out his hand. Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his. "Stop thinking that you have to catch up, or measure up to us—or me—somehow. Forget the polite, female façade if you must. You need not be in any form but yourself." he gave my hand a firm squeeze, like a handshake, and let go. "If you want to work, then work. Rob can give you more jobs if you like."

"I'd like that. This isn't a pleasure cruise. We're on a _mission _and I've got to contribute my fair share."

"That's the spirit," Caspian glanced around. "It's easy to get wrapped up. I wouldn't mind being paraded around Galma for another week or more. But we've got a wrong to set right! The lost Lords should be restored to Narnia."

"I couldn't agree more," I bounced a little on my toes. "Can I give you a hug?"

"Y-yes?"

I gave him a very short hug. "Thanks for listening to the outburst," I said.

"I've missed those a little," Caspian laughed.

"No you didn't!"

I left him and went to search for Rob.

It took me a few minutes to wonder what—in heaven's name—made me crazy enough to have that entire conversation. Perhaps it is the most random discussions, without previous ponderings, that are _really _inspired and should be spoken out loud and immediately. Lesson learned. Hopefully, still learning. I was feeling all the merrier and lighter than I had in days.

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**You crazy wonderful amazing readers… thanks for reading all twelve single-spaced pages of this long filler chapter. I hope it wasn't disappointing. I love you all. **_**Please **_**review. Reviews are the food that sustains a following chapter. Seriously though, you guys are great. I don't have personalized responses for this one, though. Next one for sure.**


	11. When You're a Professional Pirate

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Oh my gosh, you're all bloody brilliant and I love you all. Thank-you for your patience. There's been a lot of stuff going on in my life lately and has made it difficult to invest the time and emotion for this next chapter, but I am super stoked about it. I hope you'll all still read it and leave your wonderful reviews. My personal responses are at the end of the chapter. If you are morbidly curious or genuinally interested in the stuff going on in my life, feel free to check out my tumblr blog at .com, or a couple of new fan fiction tidbits, .com. **

**God bless,**

**Pippin**

**PS: I have to make a confession. Aemon is shamelessly based on a very real friend of mine. My friend's essence literally just took over the character and became him. I can no longer control Aemon's little frustrating personality. (grrr! Lol) I hope some of you don't mind that Aemon is another OC inserted from a real-life persona. (Just be as nice to him as you have to me and we should be ok, lol)**

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**Something to help, just in case:**

**Helm- a ship's steering wheel **

**Poop deck- the upper deck on the back of the ship, where the helm and the Dragon's tail are located**

**Mast- the big, pillar-tree-trunk thing in the middle of the ship that holds the sail and rigging**

**Rigging- the ropes that keep the sail and many other things in their rightful place**

**Crow's nest- a little bowl-shaped perch at the top of the mast for a watch-man**

**Night crawlers – the crew that guards and guides the ship at night and sleeps during the day**

**Main deck- middle deck, location of mast, rowboat, chicken coop, entrance to galley**

**Galley – ship's kitchen**

**Keel/lower deck – the very bottom level of the boat, where the oars come in and out of holes that while help row the ship when stuck without wind. There are two entrances, one at the base of the mast that goes down to where the oars and supplies are, another entrance in the floor of the galley that goes down to the hammock quarters**

**Stores – supplies**

**Hull – the outside of the ship**

**Forecastle – the upper, front deck of the ship, with the entrance to the Dragon mouth perch **

**Prow – the front tip of the ship with the Dragon's head**

**Porthole – those cute little circular windows in the side of a ship**

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**...**

**Strange Things Happen**

**...**

**Chapter 11**

**When You're a Professional Pirate**

**...**

The _Dawn Treader_ was re-launched within the throes of the morning, not long after the incident of the creepy man on shore and the loading of supplies. Caspian went to the helm and played the part of a benevolent king, waving cheerily to the crowds that came to see us off. Someone threw a bottle of good wine at the hull, and all of Galma burst into applause.

Soon, Galma receded in the distance behind us like a mirage at the end of a hot, paved street. My sea legs took less time to become accustomed, and I was walking normally within an hour or two.

Our first day back at sea ran by swiftly. I followed Rob around like a shadow, taking notes, counting, and helping move the crates down to the lower deck and organizing them properly. Many of them were too heavy for me to lift, but I directed the pulley or simply pointed the direction. I found that he actually hated being called Rob, but preferred his full name, Robin.

I began to refer to him as "Robin Hood" or "Robin in de hood."

"Why do you call me that, exactly?" he asked slowly.

"It's a compliment!" I said. "Robin Hood is a legendary outlaw from a time before the Pevensies left their world. He lived in the woods, wore a green hood, and stole from the corrupt, rich noblemen and gave them to poor, starving families."

Robin shook his head. "Fairy tale."

I hacked out an answer casually. "Uh—cough—you—cough—too."

As I worked, I was in my niche. I fell silent and kept looking at our task professionally, getting so involved in the fun of it that I almost missed lunch. Tusk forced Aemon to come tell me it was time to eat, and Aemon resentfully requested my presence in the galley. After we ate grilled vegetables and slices of cold ham, Robin finally forbid me from coming back down to the lower deck.

"If you keep this up, you'll forget to be any fun," he said. "I can finish this, anyhow. Thanks for your help."

"All right, all right," I called down, feeling honorably discharged from duty. I returned to my favorite place to sit on the bench along side the deck. I felt a bit of a headache coming on from coming out of the dim hull into the intense sunlight.

The sails creaked and the ropes swayed, filling with a brisk, strong wind. It was just enough to give the sailors and crew a brief respite.

I rested my arms on the railing, looking out over the eastern sea. _I'm so lucky, _I thought, smelling the salty crust against the side of the ship, and feeling a cool spray from below…

"This seems to be a tradition now," Reepicheep's voice cut through my sleep. I blinked slowly and looked around. The lighting hadn't changed much, so it couldn't be that late, but something felt different.

"Um, yeah," I replied, yawning hugely. "What's the deet, Reepicheep?"

"Fine, thank-you," Reepicheep's eyes glittered darkly in his small, fuzzy face. He had no idea what I asked him. "I'm sure you've noticed the calm?"

"The sea is calm?" I repeated, confused.

"The calm," corrected Reepicheep, "We've hit a calm."

I glanced up. The sails were so still, they could have been a painting. "Oh," I said in a small voice. "So we're stuck, aren't we?"

"Not entirely, there's a wee bit of a current on our side, but it is no thicker than you and I side by side. Everyone is due to row."

"Okay," I said slowly, "I'm not very strong. But I'll try my bestest."

Reepicheep looked doubtful. "They are not letting _me _row!"

"No offence, Reepicheep, but you haven't got arms," I almost said _you're too small _but figured it was safer to narrow it down. "I'll go ask the King."

"Hmph, yes, do that," Reep waved me on, and as I walked towards the ladder for the poop deck, he pulled his tiny rapier from his belt and began to practice his sword moves. With each stroke, he muttered, "_Can't. Row. Coz I'm a mouse. Stuff and nonsense!_"

I clambered up the ladder. Caspian was at the helm, looking a little concerned. He did not need to do any steering, as the ship was hardly moving at all. Drinian was just leaving, down the other ladder nearer to the doors that went to the cabins.

I saluted him. "Captain."

"Lady Pippin," Drinian tipped a non-existent hat to me as his head disappeared from view.

"I know what you are going to say," Caspian said sternly.

"Sorry, what?" I turned my attention on him, taken aback.

"The answer," said Caspian, more gently. "Is no."

I suddenly pictured myself saying, "In that case…" and throwing myself overboard without blinking an eye. The thought made me burst into silent laughter.

"What's so funny?" Caspian asked.

"I am," I said, deadpan. "What did you think I was going to ask?"

"Um, about the rowing," the King said in an obvious tone. "It's not fit for a woman…"

_Down, feminism, down! _I commanded, as if it were my unruly puppy. _Heel!_

"Remember our little conversation yesterday?" I tried.

He had to think about it for a moment. "About… being an act?"

"No, the one about time travel," I snorted. "Yes, that one."

Caspian chuckled. "Aye, that's why I'm saying no. You said you didn't want to impress me anymore."

I paused. "And you think I'd be offering to help row just to impress you? Your Majesty, you've got it all wrong. It won't impress you at all and I have no intention of being impressive—picking up a gallon of milk is tiring! I just want to help for the sake of helping."

"So I'm not helping you with your new resolve at all," Caspian said, disappointedly.

"Afraid not, your Majesty. But it was a very nice try."

"I suppose, then, you can," Caspian squinted up at the sails and added, "If you can row without the oar lifting you right off your feet. I've banished Reepicheep from helping."

"So I noticed," I said. "But I think I can do it."

"Suit yourself," Caspian shrugged.

"Are you upset, your Majesty…?" I asked slowly, not liking the expression on his face of disheartened resolve.

"Not with you," blurted Caspian. He glanced up at the sails again. "This was not expected, is all. The Duke had his best weatherman predict fine winds all the way to Terabintha."

"It will be okay," I replied easily. What little I remembered of the book, I knew that by the time Edmund and Lucy showed up, they had sailed thirty days prior and had no complaints. I was betting my encouragement on that short paragraph. "Really," I continued, "It's a minor delay. It's by no means a failure on your part."

"I should have delayed our launching," Caspian sighed. "Stayed in Galma a little while."

"I don't think I could have kept a pretense for that long," I snickered.

"Thank-you for doing that, by the way," Caspian winced. "It was unfair and immature to ask you to act like my escort. Now—someday, if I ever find a queen—people might talk. It could reflect badly on Narnia."

"No one will remember me," I assured. "Don't worry. They don't remember me from three years ago, and they won't remember three years from now."

"Of course they remember you," he exclaimed. "We who were there, at least, won't ever forget the poor soul that Miraz tried to use as leverage to make the duel go in his favor. Or the fact that you served the Pevensies faithfully."

"Trust me," I responded, nostalgic filling my veins. "It'll pass. Time goes on. I'm not in the book, after all."

Caspian thought this was an analogy. "Of course you're in the book!"

"Shouldn't I head down for rowing?" I changed the subject quickly.

"If you wish, then you may."

"Thank-you, your Majesty."

"Thank-you, Pippin."

…

It was hot and stuffy in the hold. The men groaned and grunted over their oars, and had been working for an hour or so already. Everything smelled of seawater and sweat. I found an empty oar in the back, not wishing to look awkwardly conspicuous. No one should see how pathetically _not _strong I am.

But rowing was repetitive, much like shoveling manure. And being a farm girl, I knew a thing or two about manure. And shoveling.

_Think like it's a shovel, _I thought, pushing the oar down, and up, pulling it back towards me, then down and up, and back. Over and over again, till I was sweating nastily and couldn't think about anything except, _Hot. Gross. Uncomfortable. Eew. Gross. Oar. Row row row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily—DAGNABIT. I hate that song!_

"So—who—are—you?" panted one of the sailors on the other side of the rig.

"Are you… one of the… night crawlers?" I asked, hoarsely.

"That I am—Geoff is the—name."

"I'm Pippin."

"Pleased—to—meetchya," he replied, "If you—don't—mind my asking. How old are—you?"

"Twenty, almost twenty-one," I choked out. _Did I mention it was hot and sweaty?_

"Huh! Same!" Geoff's ready smile—showing off weirdly white teeth in a tan, dark haired complexion—turned back to a frown as he concentrated on his rowing.

"I knew the King from the rebellion against Miraz," I felt the need to explain. My hair was beginning to feel damp and stick to my neck and forehead. "He let me… come along. I try to… help… out… as much as I can."

"Day worker, then," Geoff nodded with a grin. "The—uh—other fellows down here—we're the night crawlers, as they've—lovingly—named us."

"HELLO!" I burst loudly. No one turned around and was distracted from their rowing, but there were a lot of chuckles in reply.

Someone near the front hollered back. "ALLO!"

"That's Herring, Persus, Midge, Teeth, Zacharias, Olan, and Thornton," introduced Geoff. "We're—the—fun—ones."

All I saw were two rows of strained, glistening shoulders and little mops of hair.

"I'm sure… I'll figure them out… later…" I gasped. "How long have… I been rowing?"

"A half-hour?" Geoff snickered.

"Laugh at me… if you want…" my arms burned so badly, I thought they'd rip right open and reveal hot irons instead of bones. My chest began to feel tight. I began working again, feeling my limit come and go. It felt like the time I worked too hard in my fitness class and almost passed out in the hallway… _that _was embarrassing.

Another ten minutes crawled by at a snail's pace. My mind had condensed into a machine and my body felt disgusting. What I wouldn't give for a shower!

I felt like I'd been holding my breath. "This… is… fun," I growled.

"No, it's not," corrected Geoff. "You should drink—some—water."

"Yeah," I replied shortly, but didn't make any move to discontinue.

"You can—get someone—to relieve you," Geoff offered. He suddenly bit his bottom lip so that his large front teeth stuck out, like a beaver impression. He let out a shrill, high-pitched whistle.

Aemon came tromping down the ladder. "All right, who's too weak to continue and needs Aemon to…" he stopped when he came to the end of the line, and saw me. "Oh, you again?" he groaned. "Of course. Of _course _I'm relieving you." He pulled off his shirt and began stretching his neck, and arms, preparing himself for the work. This could be a moment were a Mary Sue might admire, but I was about as attracted to a shirtless guy as I am a piece of toast. If I could choose between the two, I'd go for the toast with butter and jam. My personal opinion? A man in a suit and tie is much prettier…

"Your point?" I snapped back, finally letting my oar up. It jolted into a rest position, and my arms fell at my sides. They felt limp and noodle-like. I sat down, hard, on the wooden bench I'd been standing on. My mind inadvertently began quoting from _Ben Hur. _"Ramming speed," I giggled.

"Oh, come off it, you're such a girl," Aemon reached down, grasped my hands, and pulled me up out of the bottom of the keel. His hands came down on my shoulders. "Hey," he said sternly, "Go get some water, all right?"

I gave him a mocking glance and saluted. "Aye aye, captain."

Aemon took my place on the bench, and began rowing like he was merely cutting a cake. I _hmphed _in tired frustration and tried to make a speedy exit.

Unfortunately, I was too sore for anything of the sort. My body felt like Jello as I dragged my feet slowly down the aisle between rowers. I was barely able to make it up the ladder. Geoff and Aemon were laughing at me uproariously.

…

There was a fresh bucket of tepid water in my room. I did not question why it was there or how it got there. I shoved my entire head in.

…

_Dear Sketchbook meant for drawing but I'm writing in it instead;_

_Hello. Day two of a calm. I rowed again this morning and I'm due to row again after lunch. I was beside one of the night crawlers again but I don't remember his name. I do hope to make friends with them like the others. _

_After lunch:_

_I threw up. _

…

I couldn't be more embarrassed. I sat on the bench again, and Reepicheep's tiny paw was patting my shoulder comfortingly.

"Fret not!" he said cheerily. "It happens to the best of us, you know."

"Aemon hates me now," I moaned. After I had suddenly turned green and threw up my lunch, Aemon was instantly there like a hawk. He ordered me out of the keel, took my place, and insisted that I didn't help again. Too pale and sickly-looking to blush, I'd walked forlornly up the aisle and couldn't bear the thought of everyone being disgusted with me. I escaped from the ladder and came right to my spot, looking down into the water and hoping I wouldn't need to lean over the rail and vomit again.

"Why would he hate you?" Reepicheep squeaked. "Remember, he had a touch of sickness when we first began this voyage."

I nodded wearily. "I guess so."

"Hey, sicky," Tusk thrust his head through the galley entrance. "Come in 'ere."

"Do you need help making dinner?" I asked glumly, wobbling over to him.

"Ha! No." Tusk shook his head. "I'm th' apothecary righ' now. I've got some tea for ya."

…

_Third morning from Galma;_

_The wind is back, thank the Lion…_

…

Fourth day out of Galma, and the wind had never tasted better. It was fresh and carried a scent like sand and pine trees, making the sail snap and flutter and the ropes creak melodically.

Still ridiculously sore from a few hours worth of rowing, I spent my time helping Tusk and trying to stay out of Aemon's way. I couldn't help but feel the boy was a sexist little prick, but at the same time, it was just his way of showing concern. I had to remind myself that they were all product of their environments—and I was lucky to be allowed on the ship. I was the tag along, not them, and I couldn't be upset for what they were accustom to, which included the age-old rule _no girls allowed. _I was an exception, and I couldn't all demand that they acted accordingly.

"LAND HO!" Klaire shouted from the crow's nest. I popped out of the galley, half an onion in one hand and small knife in the other.

"Which land?" I called up.

"Terabinthia," he waved down at me, his nose looking even more crooked with his smile. "A fine an island as any. A wee bit different from Galma, though—it ain't part of Narnia. We are foreigners to their realm."

"Lovely. Thanks!" I popped back in, and resumed chopping at one of the bolted tables. "Tusk, have you ever been to Terabintha?"

"No! I might be a worker on a ship, but I've never been a seafarin' man. We've been out to Galma on test runs in smaller sail boats, but this is the farthest I've come."

"I've never been here before, either," I said cheekily.

"You've never been anywhere!" Aemon said, from the other side of the counter.

"I've been to Mexico," I muttered, concentrating on not crying over the onion.

…

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity on deck. Klaire made a surprised sound, and I heard Caspian on the poop deck shout, "Hello, and who are you?"

Curiosity got the best of us. Aemon and I crept out onto deck and spied on Caspian, standing beside the helm. Drinian stood next to him, and the two of them were looking at a great hawk standing at the tip of the Treader's dragon tail.

The hawk let out a squeak, ruffled its feathers, and crept down the tail sideways. One clawed foot after another, it tilted its head from one side, another, and another, till it let out another squeak and flapped its wings once, but did not take off again.

"What a fine bird!" Aemon exclaimed.

The hawk blinked its narrow, gold eyes. Caspian hesitantly held out his forearm, and let out a surprised laugh when the hawk gracefully hopped onto it.

"Sire, I believe we have a message from the Terabinthian King," Drinian gently detached something small from the bird's yellow leg. "Shall I?"

"Please do," Caspian carefully reached over and stroked the bird on it's fluffy, feathery breast. It blinked again and made a low chirp.

"_There is sickness in our capital city,_" Drinian read out loud with a tone of disappointment. "_Do not come to port. The cape and creek is safe for rest and water, but do not come near the city. Luckily we've discovered the sickness wears out in four or six weeks, but we have lost a few elderly and one child. If any of your crew members exhibit symptoms (fainting, dizzy spells, a strange rash, weight loss, unbelievable exhaustion) then feel free to bring them to our apothecary. But if not, it is my wish that you remain offshore. With regret, His Majesty, Tomlin Grisham, King of Terabinthia. _There are coordinates here for the cape, Sire."

"Sounds like mono," I said, shuddering. "I hate mono."

"Have you had it?" Aemon looked at me doubtfully.

"Aye," I said mysteriously, "It's _the kissing disease._"

I let Aemon try to figure that one out, and went back to join Tusk. Truth was, I had gotten mono when I was ten, from the elevator buttons _at _the doctor's office, but it would be too tiring to explain elevators. And too tiring to explain how I almost died, lost fifteen pounds, and slept for four months straight.

"Send the bird back with our sympathies," Caspian's voice carried across deck. He sounded unsure and tired. "Take the helm, Captain, and take us to the cape. I'll have a word with the rest of the crew."

That night, we dined and watered on the deck, looking forlornly to the mass of island on the horizon. The evening was warm and full of twinkling, tropical starlight. The palms swayed in the darkness and the waves licked the sandy beaches, and it looked beautiful indeed. I wished we could have visited.

We filled with fresh water from a creek that fed into the sea, cleaned the decks, fetched fresh mud from the creek banks to use in the little boxed garden. The night crawlers scrubbed some of the sails down, oiled the ropes, and scraped barnacles from the hull. It was a busy three days, working from morning till evening, quietly and on the look out for anyone showing signs of being ill.

On the third day, the _Dawn Treader _was ready for the second stage of her journey.

…

I was in charge of sweeping, with a regular old broom made of wood and wispy, stiff bristles. I swept energetically and sang a song from _Muppet Treasure Island._

"_When the course is laid and the anchor's weighed—a sailor's blood begins racing! With our hearts unbound and our flag unfurled—we're on our way and off to see the world! On our way and off to SEE THE WORLD! Heigh ho, we'll go, anywhere the wind is blowing, hoist the sails and SIIIIING!"_

"I haven't heard that one either!" Jekyll said with some surprise, sitting astride the mast and looking down at me. "You're full of boat songs, ain'tchya?"

"I guess I am!" I said, sweeping the dust, the salt, the dried chunks of rope oil.

"Maybe you just don't know every song of the sea like ya think ya do," taunted Baron.

"None of ye know nuthin'," grumbled Bastian. "When you've been as ol' as I am…"

"Oh, shut up, you old salt," Baron snapped. "You may be older, but I'm old too."

Their argument drifted off and the two set back to their working, whittling, or horizon watching. I began singing another.

"_Hey, ho, ho, it's all for one for all—and we'll share and share alike with you an' luv ya like a son! We're gentlemen of fortune and that what we like to do, but when you're a professional pirrraaaaaate, that's what the job's about!"_

"Pirates!" screeched Klaire.

"It's just a song!" I called up.

"NO! PIRATES!" Klaire clanged a small bell hanging on the edge of the nest. "PIE. RATS. Alert the King!"

"I'll get him," I shouted, running across, and lowering myself into the hull. I darted down the aisle between the row-benches, to the room that Caspian had moved to. Caspian was exhausted and had gone down to his hammock for a short lie-in. I hated to wake him up—but seriously? Pirates? It was something mentioned in the book, I was sure, but briefly—I didn't remember what the turn out of this was going to be. _Would there be lives lost? We're not going to be boarded, are we?_

Approaching the door, I felt a sudden wave of guilt for taking his fine room. Maybe when Lucy arrived, we could convince him to take back his room and we'd take this one…

I tapped the door. "Sire?"

A muffled yawn, and a raspy voice. "What is it?"

"Pirates have been sighted, your Majesty," I said quickly. "Rise and shine."

…

Caspian ordered the _Treader's _only two canons to be pushed through spaces in the railing and for everyone to line up at the rail with weapons at ready. The night crawlers were awakened in their daytime slumber to man the canons if necessary. I guess we had to make a show of being well-armed, but no one really looked ready for a fight, but I don't think any one had expected to fight on this voyage. Some of the sailors looked capable for defending the ship, but unwilling to hurt anyone.

I hung back in the galley with Tusk and Aemon, anxiously peering from the door onto the main deck.

The pirate ship grew slower.

"It's caught in the same south-west wind," Tusk explained. "It's only a matter of time before it over takes us, cuts us off, or gets alongside and uses the canons."

"We're not going to die," I said confidently. I may not remember how this turns out, but I can say for sure; Lucy and Edmund don't fall into the sea only to encounter the ruins of the _Treader _left after a pirate attack.

We heard the unmistakable _creak _and slap of water against wood. The ship was much closer now, to the point of hearing the voices of those on board.

"Those accents are Terabinthian," Tusk whispered.

"How do you know?" Aemon said haughtily.

"Coz they ain't Narnian or Galmian," Tusk gave the back of Aemon's head a light slap. "One o' these days, Ee-mon, you're gona listen to me, coz' you're young, an' I'm smarter than you."

Aemon rubbed the back of his head, and surprisingly, broke into a grin.

Logically, I agreed with Aemon, but I wasn't about to argue Tusk's instinct.

"Steady, men," came Caspian's voice. "See that? They're rolling a sail in. They intend to slow down."

"They don't want to get any closer, Sire," Drinian informed him. "The canons are doing their job."

"I say we board them!" Reepicheep's shrill voice piped up. "Hang every mother's son of them!"

"I say," Neil said quietly, "Isn't that a bit… violent?"

"You don't like it?" challenged Reep loudly. "I'm not sure you can knit yourself a skirt out of bravery, but you may try if you like."

"Oh, shut up, Reep," Rhince, the first mate, rolled his eyes. "We can debate about honor later. Your King gives no command and we will not assume any course of action—is that clear?"

"Aye," Reepicheep said gloomily, "I only think of what would best suit the calling of a Knight."

"Sometimes a knight must let the sailors call the shots," Rynelf said kindly. "But your bravery is never doubted."

Suddenly, there was a whistle. "Arrow fire!" Drinian shouted loudly. "Protect the King!" Tusk, Aemon, and I, ducked back into the kitchen doorway with three various screeches of surprise.

"What the…" Caspian barely had time to say anything before Pan had jumped on him and had him pinned to the ground.

"Sorry, your Majesty," Pan said, rolling away and getting to his knees, removing an arrow from his quiver and notching it to a bow in his hand. Most of the sailors had all dropped below the railing line, and glanced up at the mast. All heads began to swivel in that direction. Looking like a butler and two maids (yes, Aemon is a maid) from a murder mystery movie; Tusk, Aemon, and I peered out of the door again and followed their gazes.

Embedded in the mast, still shaking from its flight, was the quivering shaft of an arrow.

"Aim to injure," Caspian struggled to his feet and gave Pan a nod.

Pan stood up over the railing, squinted, steadied his elbow and drew back his arm—suddenly, another arrow from the pirate ship, with a _thunk, _was sticking out of the ladder-stairs to the poop deck, where Orpheus was trying to crouch by the helm.

"Fire," Caspian commanded.

Pan let the arrow go. It shot off and disappeared, but a small figure on the deck of the pirate ship suddenly dropped with a yelp.

From my vantage point, I could see nothing, except for a couple of feathers sticking from the brims of their hats. A couple of angry shouts and roars echoed across the section of water between the ships. I was no judge of distance, but I'd say it was about two hundred feet away.

"One more for show," Caspian said, with a smirk.

Pan readied, aimed, and fired. The arrow zipped across, and one of the feather hats I had noticed flew up in the air and disappeared.

They began to roll down their sail, and the rudder at the back of their ship began to shift.

"They're turning away from us," Drinian announced. "We've scared them off."

Then men began to cheer lustily and clap Pan on his shoulders. Pan did not really appreciate the attention.

"We ought to give chase! Make them pay for threatening Narnia!" Reepicheep was shrieking. "Hang every one of them!"

No one paid any attention to the poor mouse.

…

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_After Barbossa's ill-fated attempt on the brave Narnian souls, they sailed away and never appeared on the horizon again. Though for the first two days, Klaire kept a very steady watch for lights or sails, convinced that it was a guise and they were going to come back and overtake us and finish us off. I couldn't help but laugh at his paranoia, but of course, not everyone read Lewis as a kid and knows that no such thing happens. I admit I'm getting a little anxious—how long are we going to be at sea before the Pevensies join us? I'm getting kind of used to the lack of dangerous adventure and being the only girl. It will change the dynamic of the journey with the Monarchs on board, for sure. And I'm not sure I'm ready for my life to be in danger. I've enjoyed working and cooking for all the sailors. Tusk is a good teacher. _

_On another note, emptying a chamber pot through a porthole is a heinous act and I've been having dreams that I've been dropping it and making a horrible mess and then everyone hates me and tosses me overboard. And then God sends me to Ninevah. Stress dreams, much? _

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_Nothing much has been happening. I was sea sick again a few hours ago, but I just hid in my room till the feeling passed and didn't embarrass myself. Phew. It's been a few days since our almost-adventure with the pirates, and now I'm beginning to wish for a little danger. _

_I can't help but wonder why I'm here. Lucy and Edmund will come because this is their country, their seas, their people—and their last adventure. Eustace comes here to become a better person. What am I here for? Is there something for me to do? _

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_Five days since the pirates, and land is in sight again! Jekyll says its Muil. He, and any of the other senior officers, have a tendency to be the only ones that know where we are or what to do. Ask Flanagan, Aemon, Neil, or Ave, and none of them know what is out there. I guess Caspian wasn't kidding when he mentioned that seafaring is a fairly new thing in Narnia. The seas are a stranger to them. Muil is part of the Seven Isles, being the westernmost island (closest to Narnia). Bzut we're not stopping in Muil. We're continuing on to Brenn (just another isle within the Seven, I guess?) to a port, aka sea-town, called Redhaven. I love the sound of "Redhaven". Excited to go ashore!_

…

We arrived in the crescent shaped bay sometime in the evening. The lagoon was deep and perfect for letting the anchor down, and rowing onto shore took no time at all. The way the sunset radiated out and reflected from the water caused the city to blush a deep, fiery red color, hence the name _Redhaven. _It looked rather jungle-themed, with buildings made from logs and sticks and torches lining sandy paths like something from a tiki barbeque. Some of the houses were up in the trees or hanging down from branches, leaving the beach fairly empty (except for bonfire pits that burned and sparked) and the tree-line jungle full of life and noise. It certainly did have a different feel from Narnia. Less medieval and more like… Swiss Family Robinson, or basically any tropical mock-up in Disneyland.

We were led to a huge feast. This one was under an open pavilion made of bamboo (or something like it, anyway) and everyone sat on the floor with bowls made from dried, hollowed shells from some kind of fruit.

I felt completely, and utterly removed from the pleasantries, as if I were merely observing my own body from above. It felt too magical, in a way. The tropical flavor, the red sun dipping behind the tree line of the two mountain bookends that framed the entrance to the lagoon, the constant flush of the tide rolling back and forth, the crackling of the bonfires… my mind went into a deep haze, taking it in, laughing back and forth with Neil and Tusk, watching Aemon and Ave try to be each other's wingman, and listening to Flanagan pull out a flute and enthrall us with the music. The air was warm and thick, mosquitoes buzzed but avoided the fire because of the smoke. Cicadas and crickets made insanely loud sounds in the jungle, silenced once in a while by a tread in the undergrowth of a creature slipping into the night.

I observed some of the night-crawlers among the other crew members, and they were all as crazily different as can be. Geoff was young and gallant, and Herring was in that post-forty fatherly time of life. Persus seemed to let loose many an inappropriate comment through his beard, and Midge was his pierced partner-in-crime. Teeth never said a word and had a tendency to zone out. Zacharius was full of proverbs, Lion-isms, stories of Aslan, legends, poems... I deeply wanted to call him "Priest" but felt the comparison wouldn't be understood here. Olan was as loud and flirtatious as Geoff, but possessed far more muscle and the merry-making attitude of an Asgard reject. Thornton stuck pretty close to Teeth, as he also never said a word, but possessed a build more like Olan. People watching proved more educational Geoff's brief introduction. They stuck pretty close together, but mingled in and out of the day crew circles as well. But they bowed out quickly after eating, in order to guard the ship for the night. Our dinner was their breakfast before a night of careful watch.

I was surprised when Caspian was suddenly seated beside me.

"Hi your Majesty," I squeaked.

"Hullo," Caspian was offered a full tankard of something. He took a very large gulp, followed quickly by two more.

"Whoa," I said lightly, "Uh—easy there, Sire. Do you know what's in that?"

"Enough to make the night go quickly," Caspian said with a hard voice, taking another huge gulp.

I involuntarily reached for his arm, but happened to catch Drinian's eyes. He was sitting about eight feet away with Orpheus, Rhince, and Rynelf. He was shaking his head as if to say _Don't interfere. _

"Okay," I said slowly, "What's wrong?"

"You know my quest?" Caspian said in a low voice. "My little idea to save the seven lords?"

I had almost forgotten, and instantly felt horrible for it. "Yes, the quest…"

"What good are we doing for them?" Caspian asked. "In the lap of luxury, and none of them are here…"

I was surprised. "You expected to find the seven lords… this soon?"

"Here or there," Caspian took another long drink. "Sooner rather than later. Three islands later and not one. I was hoping for just one. _Just one._ But there's not even a clue."

"Of course there's a clue," I improvised. "If Miraz sent them out here, intending for them to die at sea, then they would have gone much, _much _farther than the Seven Isles. I mean, wouldn't they? So that he would not receive word that they were alive? They're all so very close to Narnia, if you think about it. They wouldn't have felt safe here, even among these friendly people. They would have gone on. Think about this, your Majesty," I casually took the drink that Caspian had set on the floor before him. "No news is good news."

He paused. "Can I be honest?"

"Yes, Sire."

"I did not think sea voyages would be so depressing."

I snickered. "I have a little secret to tell you."

"What's that?"

"You haven't failed yet. Your voyage has been, thus far, accident-free, pirate-free, and practically perfect in every way. There's more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than—hang on. Sorry. That's the Lion King. Never mind. You've been executing the journey fantastically, and this little mood your in is because of what's in your flagon."

I held his cup and smelled the liquid inside—whew! Spiced wine. Really spicy.

Caspian glanced at me incredulously. "You forget I'm your King."

I dumped out the rest of the flagon's contents. "You forget I'm not from Narnia." I caught Drinian's eyes again, and made a motion like, _Dude. I've got it sorted. _

"But you're loyal to me, anyhow," Caspian asserted.

"To the death," I said, attempting to sound casual.

"Why is that, exactly?"

"Hard to explain. Imagine living in a world where there is nothing except education and working to be paid so you can purchase food. Then imagine the shock of Narnia after that…. how it affects a life. I met my heroes when I fell out of the library that day. I fumbled and I talked too loudly and I fangirled like a lunatic. I messed up my chance to be cool and friendly. But I had the opportunity to make it up—joining in the battle meant doing something _significant. _I guess knowing I'd done something good—important—and admirable, something my heroes would have done too, made returning home just a little more bearable. Sorry—what was the question again…?"

Caspian had fallen silent and contemplative, staring into the bonfire with an unreadable expression. "I think that answered it."

"Sorry, I spilled your drink."

"Don't worry about it. That's why we keep you around, Pippin. I hope you never stop spilling people's drinks. I hope you never stop trying to help me." He stood to his feet, brushing himself off. "I have more people from the magistrate to greet…"

"All right, your Majesty."

…

_Left Redhaven this morning. The people of Redhaven—incredible people obsessed with fire, the Great Lion, and good food—set us off with sweet water, oranges, and more delights that we could never have gotten in Galma. I didn't want to leave, it was too gorgeous and warm and delicious there—in that hazy air, the turquoise water and the thousands of bird calls in the jungle. I expected to run into Charlie and Hurley running down the beach any second to warn us that is wasn't Penny's boat after all. I was, surprisingly, not given any work to do, and being a bit bored I went into my cabin and drew quietly for awhile. I mean, I'm here now, but I'm writing. This whole journal on the boat thing is going to be carried on by Eustace (my version won't make it into the Lewis book, naturally) but it's something nice to do when I have nothing to do. There is no magical blank copy of Prince Caspian filling with my words as I carry on, though it still exists, and I keep it under my bed. I used to keep it on my bookshelf but was so afraid someone would "borrow" the book and read the horrifically embarrassing account of my adventures. Anonymous people online, sure. Family? NO. NEVER. They don't need to know about me bringing a Doctor Pepper to a library. Or what followed. Which of course makes me wonder—how will I get back? Will I find myself in the middle of the ride at the carnival again? Will I find myself—landing, SPLAT!—on the ground nearby with a broken back? Gee, I hope my arrival will be just as convenient as the train from STRAND to the library. That was a pleasant way to go. Aslan, take note. Please. Alright—Tusk is calling for me to help make lunch now. I just wanted to write about the way the Redhavians took this cool snake thing and put it—okay, now Aemon is tapping on my door and chanting "Pipsqueak Pipsqueak Pipsqueak". BRB, must maim him._

_..._

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**Next chapter: Something surprising shows up in the ocean waters. Something that looks suspiciously like three young teenagers…**

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**The Red Crayon: **Haha! I love your long reviews! They are so much fun to read. And it makes me simultaneously jealous but devilishly happy that you are from England. I want to go to England and Scotland someday, since my heritage is very Scottish and I prefer British customs to American. I have a wee bit of a scot accent as well, but it's an accident. I do hope my use of 'bloody brilliant' has not offended you. My godmother is from Australia and I was forbidden to use the word 'bloody' around her, hehe…

**Anon: **I know not who you are, but let me just say- HI. How's it goin'?

**Softballgirl: **I'm glad you like it too! My brother and I bite our thumbs to insult each other when we don't want people to know we're having a silent verbal war.

**ClarinetRox88: **Thank-you! And I think clarinets are awesome!

**Locked in a Stony Tower: **_Edmund will be here soon, to you, I solemnly swear this oath!_

**Madfantic: **Oh my gosh, I'd love to fiff into the plot of Treasure Island. It's one of my favorite books and I love every single movie version of it. I'll keep that in mind, alright? =) Also, I adore your profile pic. Chuck for the win! Chuck's character is basically who I would be if I were a boy. We're like the same person.

**Alexandraya: **That was a pretty dec' review. I liked it. Heh heh. Thanks for understanding. Now that I've got the whole college thing finished, I'm looking for a job. Not much luck there, but still working on it…

**Colbub: **I'm glad you like the length! When I've kept my poor readers waiting for way too long, I try to make the chapters extra long so that it feeds their hungry imaginations. I'm looking forward to Edmund, too =)

**Clara954: **My head canon is that when the Pevensies began schools for the woodland creatures during the Golden Age, that they tried to bring in as much Shakespeare as they remembered from their own world.

**Silimaira: **Aw, oh my goodness, thank-you! I am so glad you found it funny. And "Whelp" is a word I use when I want to say "weeeell" in an awkward situation. Hehe.


	12. Through Magical Paintings In the Sky

**Dearest Reviewers,**

**You all have been given mental hugs and internet cookies! Responses to individuals located at the end of the chapter. I love you all.**

**Sincerely, **

**Pippin**

**PS: Bits and snatches of the dialogue are taken from the book. I intend to be as accurate to Lewis as possible. The movie was heartily enjoyable but took too many liberties, if you ask me. There will be no green mist in this story.**

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…

**Strange Things Happen**

…

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**Chapter Twelve, **

**Through Magical Paintings In the Sky**

…

Redhaven's spiced air, warm sands, and musical jungles were left far, far behind. They were nothing but pleasant memories that caused many a smile whenever someone felt a wave too rough or a wind too cold. I wouldn't be surprised if a few sailors left with broken hearts—I won't say names, but some of them wanted to stay and be married and never go sailing again. (Cough, Geoff, Flanagan, Robin, cough).

Now, it was only ocean. There was a bit of rain, but nothing too chilly. The salt of the air, bleaching sun, the creak of the sail ropes, and the dash of the prow cutting through the waves was all that existed. A certain quiet settled among the ship—not among the people, though. The sailors joked, laughed, and sang as much as ever. But the ship itself sailed without any problems and hardly seemed to need any handling.

On the third day out, Geoff invited me to stay up one night and observe the night crawlers at work, convinced that there was some rivalry and they should prove they are the better workers. I went to sleep just after noon, and woke up sometime in the bitter bleak of night. I stumbled out of the cabins, blinked in the torchlight, and saw that the ship did indeed seem to be "crawling" with spidery sailors. They were up the rigging, in the nest, at the helm—making sure that we were on course at all times.

"So am I just supposed to sit here?" I said doubtfully to a passing shadow.

Geoff's face peered into the orange sphere of firelight, considering my question. "Crows nest?" he asked.

"Fear of heights!" I bemoaned.

"Helm, then," he grinned. "Olan will tell you anything you want to know."

I clambered up the stairs and greeted Olan, who instantly boomed "GOOD EVENING!" and shook my hand so hard I felt seasick. The man was so smiley and, despite Orpheus being the biggest person on the ship, he seemed to take up so much space. I felt like I was Reepicheep's size.

"So you're the navigator," I attempted to start a conversation.

"Ah, helmsman!" corrected Olan. "I go where he tells me!" he gestured behind us. Sitting in the darkness on the bench was Herring, the man who looked like everyone's favorite dad who turned out to be a sword-wielding wizard. Herring gave me a polite, respectful nod.

"Is that the King's new toy?" jibed a voice somewhere above.

"That is very rude," Olan said slowly, "Unless of course, I mistake your meaning? In which case I apologize!"

I looked around, and saw someone lounging on one of the rope ladders spanning the distance between the railing and the crow's nest.

"If thy tongue be a rudder, it determines thy ship," snapped Zacharius, from the galley door. "And thy ship run a black flag if thy rudder directs you to foulness."

"Ugh, someone translate?" said the person above.

"It means shut your idiotic mouth," said Herring, sternly. "Persus, I've been more than forgiving about your so-called humor…"

"Alright, alright," Persus, on the ropes, back-peddled. "I retract."

"Uh—so—Zacharius cooks for our crew," Olan explained, trying to smooth over the tension. "He is the wisest person on ship."

"Do me a favor, Miss Pippin?" asked Zacharius, peering out from the galley again. His white and silver beard seems to display all his years of mentoring. "When you see His Majesty, would you remind him that I am available as his advisee whenever he requires, even if it's during the day shift?"

"I'll remind him, definitely," I promised.

"Thank-you."

"Midge is up in the crow's nest," Olan continued, "And you've—uh—met Persus."

"Pleasure," Persus said, sourly.

"He's from Galma," Olan whispered, as if that explained his behavior.

"Narnian or not," Herring said sternly, "We abide by a code of honor, set forth by Reepicheep—the respected knight of Narnia was entrusted to provide regulation for behavior. Remember that, Persus."

"Aye aye, Herring," Persus replied, sounding genuinely chided.

"Now, that's Teeth, down there," Olan pointed to the chicken coop. Teeth was pulling out fresh eggs, and handing them off to Thornton, the other muscular one who didn't say much.

"Teeth and Thornton are awfully quiet," I said.

Olan chuckled. "Teeth is a mute, Miss Pippin. He cannot hear or speak anything."

"Isn't that dangerous, not hearing commands?" I said, feeling very sorry for him.

"Well, that is what Thornton is for. He's a big quiet chap, you see. But he communicates with Teeth. They have got a body language and they are always together. Teeth cannot get along without him—but he works for Zacharius, in the galley. He's got young Aemon's job when he's sleeping."

"Is Zacharius an apothecary, too?"

"Naw, just Tusk. If we need a physician, we have to wake him up."

"Hopefully not too often, then," I replied, smiling.

"Only when Midge fell on me from the crows nest," said Geoff's voice. He popped up out of the keel, waving a small piece of parchment around. "I've got some instructions from Captain Drinian—he's heard about Persus, apparently."

"What's that, eh?" Persus asked.

"You're to mop all the decks tonight," Geoff grinned.

"That's not fair," Persus moaned.

"Are you questioning the Captain?" Herring said, sternly.

"No disrespect intended," Persus grumbled.

"For the record," said Midge's voice from the crow's nest. "I didn't fall on you, I jumped, and you deserved a sore arm for flirting with that Redhaven girl. Especially since that Robin had made it clear he would stop in for a visit with 'er on the way back."

"Why, Geoff," I scoffed, "You and Robin were fighting over the same girl?"

Geoff laughed. "Oh, we thought we stood a chance. Then Olan walked by."

Olan grinned. "You jest. She had no interest in me."

Zacharius's voice suddenly boomed from the galley. "Think not on trivial flirtations that go not past the eyes and what the eyes see! Rather think on what makes you holy, and a vessel for Aslan's will and bidding!"

"Amen!" I exclaimed.

…

I finally went to bed an hour or so later, having spent my time just sitting by the helm and talking with Herring and Olan. They were the most friendly and comfortable of the night crawlers, and while Zacharius would have been fun to chat with—I was a little sick of spending so much time in the galley with Tusk and Aemon that I welcomed a break where I wasn't chopping potatoes and boiling the salt out of the seawater.

…

I flew out of bed in the type of panic one has when late for work. I wasn't exactly late, but I had slept in a little longer than usual, which means instead of waking up around six a.m. my time, I woke up at sevenish. How lazy of me.

I changed out of my oversized shirt, threw on the breeches and the flowy white shirt that made me feel like a nicer version of the Dread Pirate Roberts. I was relieved to find that I had slimmed out some—not too much, mind you, but college certainly enjoyed imposing three extra pounds whenever it could.

My hair was a mop. Fluff and frizz were everywhere. My eighties haircut was cool enough if I had a straightener, but nothing but sea-water treatment had turned me into David Bowie's Goblin King.

"_As the paaaain seeps through, makes no sense for you, everything has gone, wasn't too much fun at all—but I'll be there for yoooou OOO-HOO! AS THE WORLD FALLS DOOOOOWN…"_ I sang my favorite from Jim Henson's _Labyrinth _as I threw open the cabin door and took a deep breath.

Nothing smells quite like a clean horizon, fluffy gray clouds threatening rain, a fresh chill in the air made bearable by a warm western wind, coming from somewhere in Narnia where it was summertime.

We were now six days out to sea since Redhaven, and the ocean seemed to betray this in its colors. It wasn't just a deep blue, reflecting the sky, it had an undercurrent of gray and an unfathomable green, as if to say _There are entire worlds under here, too. _

…

The rain threat seemed to clear a little by lunch hour. When I came out to announce that the rice & salted fish thing was ready for their munching, a yellow sun had pierced the low set of fluffy clouds, allowing a long ribbon of light to spill through from east to west. We sailed parallel to this strip of light, a light that seemed almost as if it was a crack between worlds. Well, okay, either a crack between worlds, or when your Mom nudges your door open slightly at night, letting the hall light blind you to death, double-checking to make sure you aren't up all night reading that darn book. And even if you did, you heard her coming and had stuffed your book and booklight under the covers. _What? It's difficult to read Prisoner of Azkaban in a house that doesn't approve of the boy wizard, okay?_

Tangent, sorry, it was one of the most rebellious things that I've done. To continue.

Have you ever come to a moment in your life when you've stopping expecting magic? Where everything is hard work and it's ordinary and you'll get a job and make money and go to school and nothing really magical happens because that's not real life? And suddenly you find yourself at your most stressful, or just busiest in general, and suddenly you see something, natural and unassuming, and think; "Now, this is something really beautiful and magical"?

I had a moment like that, one of those pre-finals weeks. Campus was cold and nasty. People were cold and nasty. Life was nasty and I felt cold. College was just, to put it simply, a big bummer. Then it began snowing and the entire campus was transformed into something magical. The orange light from the street lamps made everything glow, from the icicles to the sparkling parking lot and the indentations of footprints. Every lamppost (the college attempts, half-heartedly, to look more classy than it really is, and the lampposts are the only ones that succeed) lit up a grouping of trees and the paths to the dorms. And then I remembered that magic will still happen, sometimes when everything stops, and creation reminds you that it is there.

Was that long winded? Sorry, I only meant to explain the lack of magic on the ship. Sure, we sailed from Narnia, yes, there was a Talking Mouse, a faun, and a minotaur—but we were working. This was a very real ocean with very real duties on board the ship. I sweated and chopped vegetables in the galley. I smelled like smoke at all times. But I remembered something—the Pevensies came to Narnia during the Hundred Year Winter, and with them, Aslan was on the move. That is when magic was really there.

And suddenly, I knew Aslan was on the move again.

Magic was being restored to the Dawn Treader.

And how do I know this? Because through the crack of sunlight in the sky, three small figures—at first, I thought they were birds—fell through, and landed with anti-climactic splashes nearby. And I think where any of the Monarchs are—Aslan is near, and Aslan is moving to do something significant.

…

"Bloody barnacles!" I exclaimed, earning a critical look from Jekyll. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" he leaned over the side, looking about. "I see nuthin'!"

"Three—things—fell," I was gesturing wildly. "DID YOU SEE THAT?"

"Hey!" Jekyll shouted. "Klaire! Somethin' in the south?"

Klaire's head jerked around as he examined the horizon. "What? What?"

"What's going on?" Caspian's voice came from the helm.

"Answer your King," Drinian added sternly, when no one replied.

"I see nothing!" Jekyll exclaimed.

"I saw SOMETHING!" I screeched.

"Wolf's bane," cursed Klaire, finally zeroing in on three figures in the water. "MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!"

"Fetch the ropes," Drinian commanded, and Caspian darted away from the helm. Drinian calmly stepped in and took his place, steering the ship a wee bit to the right. Caspian brushed past me, jumped onto the bench, and held onto one of the rope-ladders. "Show me!" he said loudly.

I pointed. It looked like three basketballs bouncing in the water. One of them went down, and then another flailed, and went under as well.

"Bring her about," commanded Drinian, gesturing to Baron and Ave to work the ropes and maneuver the sail so that we drew closer to the figures. The _Treader _cast a huge shadow over them.

The ribbon of light, the crack, had shut. The clouds had merged together, like closing the door between universes.

Caspian pulled off his jacket, and handed it off to me. Straightening his arms, stretching, and pointing—he dove right off the side, joining the three swimmers below.

I was beginning to hear their voices. Someone was screaming like a little girl, and it certainly wasn't Lucy. A blond head of hair kept dipping under, till the two older grasped his arms and held him aloft as they treaded water.

There was a chaotic storm of sailors working, shouting, throwing ropes overboard to draw them in after attaching them to a pulley, and cries of "Heave!" as the ropes were being drawn in.

Suddenly, shivering and shaking, Lucy Pevensie—Queen Lucy, the Valiant—was being helped over the railing. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, as radiant and beautiful as ever, having lost the child-age shape of the face and gained another five or more inches in height. Her adorable school-girl jumper, skirt, and headband were soaked through and she was staring, wide-eyed, at the ship. She hadn't seemed to quite compute what she was looking at yet.

I rushed forward unceremoniously and threw Caspian's coat around her. "Don' wantti to c'tch caeld noeew, do we?" I shrieked in a Cockney accent, far too excited to see her to keep my composure. _My bebies! _I thought.

"Pippin?" she gasped. "Is that you?"

"Hector!" I exclaimed, as if just now recognizing her. "Your Highness!"

"What…?" drawled two or three voices, unbelievingly. Aemon's mouth was hanging open, wondering why I was referring to her as _Highness. _Or, maybe it was because I called her Hector.

"This is Queen Lucy, the Valiant," I said loudly, holding Lucy like she was one of my wee children at the middle-school youth group. She was shivering and wide-eyed with shock.

"What!" exclaimed more of the sailors.

The rope came up again, and this time, Neil was pulling Edmund over the side. He clambered down, clumsily and wild-looking. His dark hair was sticking up in all directions and his school-clothes looked unsuited for him, being of course, more Narnian than English.

"King Edmund the Just!" I said casually, giving Aemon a glance. Aemon looked like he was about to pass out.

"Is this? What is this? Is this Nar…" Edmund trailed off and made eye-contact with me. "You look familiar," he said slowly. "Is that…?"

"It's me!" I released Lucy of my coddling and ran up to him. Lucy slowly sat down on the bench, nursing a knee where she bumped it against the side of the ship.

"P-P-PIPPIN!" Edmund blurted, his eyes working crazily over the whole scene. "What? How?" Neil was suddenly throwing a large blanket over Edmund's shoulders. "Oh, uh, thank-you," Edmund said quickly. "But—but…"

Then, a younger boy—squirming and wailing like a cat getting bath—was pulled over the sad. And behind him, Caspian jumped over the railing with ease and brought the last of the rope with him.

"C-C-Caspian!" exclaimed Lucy.

"Queen Lucy!" He sat down beside her and gave her a hearty hug. Eustace practically lost all sense of coherency when he saw the strange man hugging his cousin and calling her _Queen. _

"That must be Eustace?" I asked, laughing.

"Forget the weasel!" Edmund said crossly, snatching me from my observation into a tight, glad embrace. I hugged him back happily, feeling how tall he'd gotten in the past three years or so, (though I was not sure how much time had passed in England, as opposed to the three years in Narnia or the two-and-a-half in the USA).

"I am so glad to see you!" Edmund said, pulling back. "When I—well, this is Narnia, isn't it? Oh—never mind—when there was magic, and the picture came to life, I thought maybe we were coming back—but I never dreamed! But, but—Pippin! I can't believe it's you!"

Lucy came running up then, and the three of us group-hugged like a club of juvenile detectives from famous books.

"Uh—ahem," Caspian's voice interrupted. We parted, and he grabbed Edmund for a handshake, which turned into a brotherly hug as well. "Uh, so, men," Caspian announced loudly, pulling back and keeping a hand on either of the Pevensies' shoulders. "Behold—your Monarchs. This is King Edmund and Queen Lucy—magically brought to us out of the waters—once again!"

In awe and stupor, the crew slowly got down on their knees. Aemon glared at me, till I remembered that I, too, should get down on my knees. I was half-successful, for by the time I was lowering, they were all standing again.

The moment of recognition and respect was cut short all too soon. The sound of blubbering and wailing came from the back of the crowd. The whole crew turned slowly to have a look, nearly forgetting about the third person they'd rescued from drowning.

"Who is your friend?" Caspian asked, not quite believing his eyes—the boy was crying like a hungry toddler, but was more likely about twelve years old.

Eustace was crying dreadfully hard, scrubbing at his eyes with his fists and shouting "I don't like it! It's not real! Wake up, wake up! Take me back!"

"Take you back where?" Caspian asked, giving Neil a nod. Neil put another blanket around Eustace's shoulders, but Eustace shook it off and began scrambling all over the deck, looking over the railings for sign of land—or perhaps for the crack of light that let them in. Or, of course, as he knew—a painting that came to life in the bedroom.

Then, he spewed against the side, howling about how unsanitary vomit is, as it was flying forth. "UUUGGGHH!" He screeched.

"Good heavens," I said quietly.

"There, there, lad!" said Zacharius, stepping towards him and patting his back comfortingly. After hearing all the kerfuffle and craziness, the night crawlers had come up from their bunks and watched the entire goings-on.

"Uh—Rynelf?" Caspian chuckled. "Bring spiced wine for their Majesties. It'll warm them up."

"You and the crying one, as well, Sire?" asked Rynelf.

"Yes, please, and thank-you."

Rynelf followed Tusk into the galley, and Aemon dutifully followed, but not before making a motion towards me—a gesture that seemed to say, _You've got a lot of explaining to do._ I had mentioned that I was kind of like their assistant during the battles against Miraz, but he must not have believed me. Or maybe he hadn't paid attention—after all, he and Ave were wrestling when I was discussing it with Flanagan and the rest.

"Back to your duties, men," commanded Drinian. Grumbling about missing out on the fun, the men dispersed to their places, and the night crawlers returned to their beauty sleep. Zacharius stayed beside Eustace, who slumped against the bench and zoned out entirely.

"I am so glad to see you all," Caspian was gushing. It was kind of hilarious. "Pippin said that—well—I mean she hinted that something was going to happen, before we started—but I never in my wildest dreams thought that you'd really return. And in the middle of the sea. This is—_fantastic._"

"You knew we were coming?" Lucy exclaimed. "Is there anything you don't know?"

I tapped my head. "I'm full of secrets."

"Did you know Eustace was coming too?" Lucy added. We all glanced over at poor Eustace.

"Uh, possibly?" I winced.

"So—Eustace," repeated Caspian. "Relation? Friend?"

"Relation," Edmund said very quickly. "Not a friend. I'm afraid we've brought a bit of trouble to your ship…"

"A ship, a ship!" shrieked Eustace. "We're on a ship! I bloody well need real food! Or vitamins! I must be hallucinating!"

"Calm down, Eustace," Edmund said, annoyed.

"This really is traumatic for him," Lucy said kindly. "He's never been anywhere with magic before."

Rynelf returned with a tray, and on the tray were four silver flagons. We'd never used them for any occasion before, and I assume they were kept under lock and key for special events. He handed each to the royals, and one for Eustace. Eustace took one sip and turned, vomiting over the side of the ship again.

"Good lord," I exclaimed. "Poor kid. Bad wine?"

"Bad kid?" grumbled Ed.

Eustace was crying again, spluttering and whipping his mouth on his sleeve. "Don't you lot have any of Plumptree's Vitaminized Nerve Food?" he shrieked. "My nerves are shattered! Absolutely shattered!"

"This is a merry shipmate you've brought us, brother," Caspian snickered. I loved the change that came over Caspian. The magic was back—he was relaxed, he was grinning widely, his mood had lifted considerably. His friendship and loyalty to the Pevensies kept his heart open and his spirits high.

"I'm fairly certain Eustace came along on accident," I suggested. Edmund could only nod emphatically and watch his poor cousin with a mixture of contempt and pity.

Not wanting to get involved in the mess, Rynelf slowly backed away. Reepicheep leapt out from the cabins, where he had been unsuccessfully trying to fetch blankets for them, but by the time he got one down from the shelf, they'd all been rescued and Neil had provided towels for all.

"Dear boy!" Reep exclaimed, stepping in Rynelf's place. "Take a deep breath!"

"ACK!" screamed Eustace. "TAKE IT AWAY! It's horrid! Ugh! Go away you filthy creature! Help! Help!"

Reepicheep slowly turned away from him, as one might try to avoid a stand selling Girl Scout cookies and carefully ignore their pleas to come back and buy the expensive things. He darted up to us, instead, and swept off his small feather as a bowing gesture to the Pevensies.

"Oh, Reepicheep!" exclaimed Lucy. "You're here too! It is so good to see you!"

"My humble duties to you both," Reepicheep bowed, "Your presence was the only thing lacking from this glorious venture!"

"Go away! Go away!" Eustace kept on. "I can't bear performing circus animals! They're silly and vulgar and… sentimental!"

I failed to see how sentimental was any kind of justification. "You know what else is vulgar?" I muttered to Edmund. "Being seasick and screaming simultaneously…"

Edmund practically snorted, while I felt Drinian's eyes stabbing me in the back. Apparently it was stepping over a line to insult Their Majesty's Cousin, but I figured—they know me. They can deal with it.

"Am I to understand," Reepicheep hesitated, giving Eustace a good look-over with critical, beady eyes. "That this singularly discourteous person is under your Majesty's protection? Because if not…"

Suddenly Lucy sneezed loudly.

"Oh, bother," Edmund squinted, and then he sneezed too.

"What a fool I am, keeping you about in your wet things!" Caspian exclaimed, mentally facepalming. "Come on below and get changed, Edmund. Uh, Pippin, can you see to Lucy? I'm sure…"

"She shall stay in with me," I nodded eagerly. "She can wear the things your dear nan packed for me. No worries."

Caspian nodded, grateful that his old Nanny had thought of everything—even, unwittingly, providing for Lucy while she was here.

"We'll take Eustace down below," Edmund said gloomily, popping his neck and stretching his arms, as if preparing for wrestling with Orpheus. "He ought to go to bed looking like that."

"Why don't you meet us in the Captain's cabin when you are finished?" Caspian requested.

"Aye Aye, Sire," I replied. Lucy looked at me, beaming with pure excitement at being in her magical country again. I can only imagine what this was like for her—a Queen returned, for her third time, Aslan making good on his promise to being her back.

I grinned, grabbed her hand, and began pulling her towards the entrance to the cabins under the poop deck, which of course the hall that led to them was open to the main deck. "You are going to love this," I chattered excitedly, "I fell into Narnia nearly a month ago—and I begged them to let me come—Caspian gave me his cabin—but I knew you were coming, so it's like a sleepover—it's so cool—I help in the kitchen—we went to a tournament—I'll let them tell you."

"I just can't believe I'm here," Lucy murmured, as we passed into the tiny hall and I threw the door open for Caspian's cabin. "I feel like I'm dreaming! Or just waking up! I don't know! One minute we were reading a letter from Susan, she's in America, you know… and arguing with Eustace about limericks… and then we're looking at a painting. The painting was of this ship, you know!"

"I wonder who painted the ship?" I mused, closing the door behind us and gesturing widely with my arm. "Uh—so—here it is! But no, seriously—that wardrobe you all went through? It was made of the wood from the trees that grew from Digory Kirke's magic apple and—that's another story, I guess. But who painted the picture?"

"Eustace said it was junk, or something, an old wedding present—I can't imagine who could paint it so accurately and not be from Narnia," Lucy spoke quickly, looking around the room in awe. "Can you believe a painting of this glorious ship wasn't hanging in a gallery somewhere? I mean—look at this! Dwarf craftsmanship!" she tapped the tiny lamp hanging above the table. "And… and… these markings on the wall, the paintings, the gold head of Aslan hanging here…"

"Isn't it wonderful?" I agreed. "The bed's big enough for both of us, if you don't mind."

"Not at all!"

"Dry clothes are right here," I threw open my trunk. "I recommend the shirts and trousers. The dresses are a bit… um…"

"Over the top?" Lucy suggested, grinning. "Why'd you have them, anyway?"

"I was borrowing them while at Cair Paravel, I was dumped here in summer clothes that were a bit indecent," I chuckled savagely. "And I used one to impersonate Caspian's woman-of-choice at the tournament. He probably won't mention that in front of Edmund, but you get my version."

"You DIDN'T!" gasped Lucy in horror.

"His idea, not mine," I giggled. "He was trying to avoid the attentions of the Duke's daughter. I agreed to go along to keep him saving face, but it was a disaster. I wish you were there! You would have loved it!"

"Well, I'm here now," Lucy glanced around again, basking in the awe of the place. "And I couldn't be more pleased. Better later rather than later, eh?"

"Yes of course," I said. "I'll leave you to change. May I add that you look absolutely lovely? You've grown up so much!"

"So have you!" Lucy returned. "I mean, I hardly recognized you. You look older than me now. But…"

"I know, I know," I laughed. "I'm still short. That'll never change."

"I'm glad, you carry it well," Lucy replied. "I'll be out soon."

"See ya, your Majesty," I winked and shut the door behind me, following voices out, past the door, and into the door on the other side of the hall. This was Drinian's cabin (when Caspian insisted on giving me his cabin, I'm pretty sure Drinian made a fuss and asked him to take his, but Caspian assured him that his duties as Captain granted him a deck-room. Which is why Edmund and Eustace were going to stay with Caspian below).

I knocked a few times. Edmund threw open the door, and caught me in another airtight bear hug.

"Oh, hi," I squeaked. Caspian and Drinian stood at the table, pulling maps out to show the Pevensies. Reepicheep sat on the table, trying to keep his tail out of their way.

"I'm so happy you're here too!" Edmund said happily. "When our train took that magical detour to America—I really never thought I'd see you again. When we arrived at school it was back to 1940s England. I didn't know how'd you'd manage to meet up with us again."

"Train?" said Drinian's voice.

"It's a chain of wagons, all hooked together, that don't use horses," I said, detaching myself from Edmund's over-eager (though I admit, adorable) embrace. "They run on a set of tracks."

"What pulls them?" Drinian asked, amused. He didn't believe me.

"It runs on…" I looked towards Edmund for assistance. He knew what electricity was, they didn't.

"The same substance in a lightening fork," Edmund provided.

Drinian laughed heartily, but Caspian only smiled. He knew our circumstances.

"It's true," Edmund said slowly. "I mean, we are from the future, after all."

"I thought you were from the past?" Drinian chortled.

"Narnia's past," Edmund replied, mysteriously.

"Think on it this way," I attempted, "Someone in my world would probably faint if they saw real talking animals. We're a world of advanced science and machinery. No magic. No talking animals."

"Imagine a world without that!" Drinian sighed.

"It breaks the heart," Reepicheep agreed. "Imagine if I couldn't speak!"

Drinian looked like that would be relieving. Caspian snickered.

"It breaks my heart, too," I grinned.

…

Edmund wanted to know, straight-away, what the entire voyage was for and if there were any theories about why Aslan wanted us other-worlders here. Caspian, being so very polite, dodged questions till a timid tap sounded at the door.

I opened it up for Lucy. Caspian introduced Drinian to her, and Drinian was very gallant, knelt, and kissed her hand. Lucy was used to such treatment, but it was clear it had been awhile. She blushed and muttered that it wasn't necessary—after all, we weren't technically in Narnia.

Lucy glanced around his cabin. "Oh, where's Eustace?" she asked.

"In bed," Edmund sighed. "Don't bother trying to be nice to him, it only makes him hate you more. I'm afraid we can't do anything for him right now."

"We need to talk, anyway," Caspian touched Lucy's shoulder kindly. "We'll see to your cousin when we've concluded matters' here."

"I should say we need to talk!" blurted Edmund. "How long has it been since your coronation?"

"Three years," Caspian answered.

"It's only been a little more than a year for us," Edmund said. "How's it going in Narnia?"

"You don't suppose I'd have left my kingdom if all wasn't well," grinned Caspian. He began to relate the events that guaranteed peace—the giant's tribute, Trumpkin's guardianship, and the rest. When Edmund's wide-eyed curiosity was satisfied about Narnia (I wonder if he wasn't a bit disappointed he landed on a ship instead of on his own, beloved shores?) Caspian relayed the story of the seven lords.

Oh, those seven lords. When Miraz took over, he was fairly certain these seven men would rise against him (they supported Caspian's father). He sent them to the sea. My cynical mind couldn't remember how many actually lived. It'd been so long since I'd read the book, was it possible we'd only find two or three alive, and the rest would be dead? Would Caspian consider it a small blessing, or a failure?

"But Reepicheep has a higher hope in this voyage," Caspian added. "Seven lords, and perhaps Aslan's country itself."

"Why should we not come to the very edge of the eastern world?" Reepicheep piped up. "It is always from the East that the Lion comes to us."

Edmund whistled. "That is an idea."

"Is Aslan's country the sort of place you can, um, sail to?" Lucy asked doubtfully.

"I do not know, Madam," said Reepicheep, "But when I was but a wee mouse in my cradle, a Dryad spoke a lullaby over me—

_Where sky and water meet,_

_Where the waves grow sweet,_

_Doubt not, Reepicheep,_

_To find all you seek,_

_There is the utter east._

I don't know what it means. But the spell has been on me all my life." His tail flickered with anticipation.

"So, we should drink saltwater every few miles to see if it's sweet," I said, deadpan.

Drinian and Caspian stared at me as if I had suddenly sprouted purple antlers and had Beanie Babies jumping out of my pockets.

"I was joking," I added.

Edmund laughed loudly, but he was the only one.

"Thanks, Ed," I said sourly. "You watch my back."

"Always."

…

* * *

**Thank-you all for reading! I can't wait to hear what you think! Please review!**

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**Locked in a Stony Tower: **Well, well, well, Edmund and Lucy are back, and there is no escaping them now. =) I'm half-sick of set up and I'm grateful I've come to my favorite parts of the adventure—more antics to come!

**Jewel in a Crown: **Aw, no, Caspian doesn't have a drinking problem. He was just so flummoxed that they didn't find at least one of the seven lords at Redhaven. He thought he'd have a little drink and go to sleep instead of enjoying the feast. I don't treat any kind of alcoholism lightly (it has, and had, a very tight grip on people that I know) and I hoped by pouring out his drink that my disproval of having "just one drink coz of a bad day" would be clear.

**Softballgirl: **Oh yes, Avengers for the win. I am a Loki fan girl. He just needs a hug and acceptance from Odin and all his violence will probably stop. Hehe.

**Strawberrypi: **I agree that adding romance in to a self-insert story is just Mary-Sueish and somewhat pathetic. If anything ever seems too romantic, do give me a heads up. But I don't write relations with male characters in this story any differently than my real friendships =)

**Madfantic: **You are very welcome!

**The Red Crayon: **I love your reviews! They're crazy! And I'm glad my British swears don't offend you. Most of what I use is British anyhow—I use the Oxford comma, include the u in colour just to confuse people on facebook, say "lie-in" instead of nap… It's deliciously fun. AND OMG YOUR FRIEND LOOKS LIKE HARRY? I'm jealous. That's awesome. I have a friend who looks like Ian Somerhalder who plays Damon from the Vampire Diaries, but that's not quite as cool as the boy wizard. That's so awesome you get to work in a coffee shop. Most of the American population wants to work in coffee shops but the management won't hire more than two or three, hehe.

**Silimaira: **The Pevensies and the Scrubbs will be the spark that initiate the adventures we are all more familiar with =)

**Colbub: **Actually my grandmother is German. My godmother is Australian. I grew up with a lot of "GEEEEHRLS! GET EN THE CAH!" and "That's stew-pid!" Hehe. So I don't actually have any Australian in my blood, but I do have Scottish on my grandfather's side! My ancestor was Sir Richard Cobb, a brave knight who served the Queen. While this is a very distant relation, I've taken ownership of that little smidgen of scot blood and wear it proudly =)


	13. Of Mice and Men

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Sorry it took so long to update, but there's been some vacationing, job searching, an awkwardly real social life, and a great amount of time spent on my original fiction. Anyhow! Enough of that! Back to the Dawn Treader. Love to you all.**

**Pippin**

* * *

…

…

**Strange Things Happen**

…

…

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen,**

**Of Mice and Men**

…

"Where are we now, Caspian?" asked Lucy, craning over Drinian's arm to look at the maps. "I've never landed in the middle of a ship without having been on it for the beginning of the voyage."

Drinian pointed to a space on his chart, blank except for the squiggly lines drawn to represent the ocean's waves. He began to explain the first three weeks of our journey, where we stopped and watered, and even mentioned our slightly disastrous but fun tournament.

"The Duke of Galma made a great tournament for His Majesty," Drinian explained, "And there he unhorsed many knights…"

"I got a few nasty falls myself," Caspian interjected. "Some of the bruises are there still."

"and… he unhorsed many knights," repeated Drinian, laughing. "They would have been pleased if the King married the Duke's daughter, but nothing ever came of that…"

"Why did nothing ever come of that?" I asked slyly.

"She squints, and has freckles," Caspian said, with a sour look in my direction. I squinted at him. It was almost as if he was referring to me, not to the Duke's daughter. Like I single-handedly prevented the marriage. Ha!

"Oh, poor girl," Lucy said, awkwardly.

Drinian dropped the subject quickly, and moved on to tell her about the rest of our journey, our near-miss with the pirates, and finally brought her up to speed on the whole thing. "We are now nearly thirty days at sea," he finished, "We have sailed more that four-hundred leagues from Narnia."

"Has it really been that long?" I asked slowly. "That's amazing. The time has flown so quickly."

"We approach the Lone Islands next," Captain Drinian informed us, rolling up his chart with his brown-knuckled hands worn from work. "And after them, no man can tell us what we shall see next. Unless the Lone Islanders themselves can tell us what lies beyond them in the East."

"Then it is after the Lone Islands that the adventure really begins," Reepicheep declared.

I felt a mild disappointment. Was this not an amazing adventure? Was it only an adventure because the Pevensies joined us? I guess Reepicheep felt it too—the magic of the unknown descended upon us once they were here. I guess the known isn't truly an adventure, only 'good times' before we enter the blank places on the maps.

"Would you like to see over the ship before supper?" Caspian asked them.

Lucy paused, looking a bit crestfallen. "I'm afraid I really ought to go see Eustace before we do anything else. Seasickness is horrid, you know. If only I had my cordial with me!"

"But you have," Caspian grinned, reaching over to a bench at the foot of Drinian's small bed. He opened it up. "I'd quite forgotten about it. I brought it along—oh, well, I bring them everywhere, I kept them as royal treasures. Here you are!" he pulled her cordial out, in the little diamond flask I remembered so well. "If you think it ought to be used on something as trivial as seasickness."

"Just a drop," Lucy said apologetically. "He is our cousin."

Caspian handed it to her, with reverence, but with a grin, too. "Take back your own, Queen Lucy," he said. "And may it help your poor cousin."

"Our miserable cousin," Edmund added vehemently.

…

I felt as if I were intruding on their catching-up, so I did not follow Caspian and the Pevensies down to the hold. Caspian would show Edmund their hammocks to sleep in, and where Lucy would give Eustace a droplet of cordial, and I knew that there is nothing quite so miserable as being sick and having an audience. So rather than meet Eustace officially, I stayed above deck, and went back into the kitchen—where I knew a somewhat put-out Aemon would be waiting to have an explanation.

"There's our missing helper," Tusk exclaimed, when I entered the galley and took a deep breath of the delicious smell brewing.

"Sorry, I had a wee bit of talking to do," I said, with a grin.

"I should say!" Aemon threw something—I didn't catch what—against the table and came stomping towards me. "How is it that you are friends with the—THE—Monarchs of old? How did that happen?"

"I was their gardener," I said, casually.

Aemon paused. "The what?"

"She's pullin' yer leg," Tusk informed him.

"You'd think—I mean—you ought to have told me."

"Why?" I asked. "Its much more fun watching you freak out."

"It just surprised me, is all," Aemon snapped. "That would be like—if—If I fought the famed witch from The Hundred Year Winter. Wouldn't you want to know of it?"

"Did you?" I asked, grinning.

Aemon snorted. "Of course not."

"Do you want me to introduce you?" I said, suddenly realizing that these were, after all, heroes from the past and those that helped their own King _be_ the King that they knew.

"No!" Aemon's voice nearly cracked. "If they're going to stay here, I'll meet them in my own time."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Shhhhh!" said a voice from the other side of the galley. Bastian and Baron were sitting across from each other at one of the tables, concentrating on a chess game.

"I'm trying to think," Bastian said, crossly. "Yer yammerin' is breakin' my concentration!"

"I think age is breaking your concentration!" Baron argued.

"Hush," Bastian whispered. "Let me make my move."

"It's been ten minutes!"

"Shhhhh!"

I snickered quietly and turned to Aemon. "Aemon," I said kindly, "I told everyone about my past with the monarchs, but unfortunately, you and Ave were too busy rolling around in the sand to hear of it. I wasn't trying to keep you in the dark. Anything you'd like to know in particular?"

Aemon huffed frustratingly. "It's just I thought you were common, like us. I've been snarky and sarcastic with you. Is this all going to be in some kind of report?"

I paused, finally seeing the problem. "You think I'd complain to them of you?"

"Maybe, if you were spiteful."

"Well, I'm not spiteful, and I _am _common. Just like you. I'm not anybody special. I came here on accident and got roped into the rebellion against the Telmarines. I just tagged along and tried not to die. In the meantime, I was spending some time with the Monarchs."

"And became their friend?"

"No. Yes. Well, not so you'd notice. The older ones tolerated me. I think I rather forced my friendship on Edmund—but now that he knows me, he's alright with it. Lucy just loves everyone she meets."

Aemon cocked an eyebrow at me. "So this whole time—you weren't thinking to yourself, _hm, if he only knew who I was, he wouldn't act like this_?"

"I never thought that," I protested, "Maybe I do have friends in high places, alright? But you don't know me at all if you think I'm the kind of person that takes advantage of that, or looks down at people for it."

"Yer just upset because they're famous," Tusk interjected. "Now get over here an' help me stir this."

"Sorry, Aemon," I said lamely, as he whirled and joined Tusk at the counter.

"Don't apologize t' him," Tusk said. "He's poutin'!"

…

Not entirely satisfied with how the conversation turned out, I stomped back onto deck, sitting on the bench to watch the sunlight play on the water's surface. The temperature was a little too warm for my tastes, but the fair wind kept it from being unbearable.

I could hear the voices of the Pevensies up at the Dragon's mouth, getting a full tour of the fineries in the ship. Caspian couldn't help but brag a little about the _Dawn Treader, _after all, I'm sure he wanted to impress upon the Monarchs that Narnia was in good hands while they were away. If the way he spoke of everything in that heightened, dramatic tone was any hint, he wanted them to see that it was sea-worthy and as admirable a ship as any. Caspian was hoping to exceed expectation, but of course, he might not understand that Edmund and Lucy just adored him, and had no concerns about his abilities to be a proper King.

"Fancy," came Eustace's voice, "You're all acting like this is a _real _ship. It's not the Queen Mary or anything, I can tell you!"

"Oh, stop going on about that," Edmund groaned. "If you don't like it, we can toss you overboard."

"Ed!" exclaimed Lucy. "We won't do any such thing, Eustace. He's just teasing. But do—please—please don't be rude to the King. This is a fine ship."

"I hoped you'd think so," Caspian said. "And whenever you want to sleep, just let Pippin know. I'm sure she'll make sure you have everything you need." He chuckled. "Thank the _Lion _we have another girl on board. This will make your transition quite easy, don't you think?"

"Pippin and I get along splendidly," Lucy said, happily.

"Is she that little girl with the ugly hair?" Eustace scoffed.

"She's our friend," Edmund said shortly, "You'd do well to remember that we like her a lot more than we like you, so you can just shut your stupid mouth."

"Oh, Edmund," Lucy said, frustratingly. An awkward pause followed.

"Shall we go to the main deck…?" Caspian suggested uncomfortably.

They began to tromp down the ladder-stairs, around the mast and the skiff tied beside it, and found me on the other side.

"There you are!" Lucy exclaimed.

"What is up with you?" Edmund asked.

"You like her better than me?" Eustace asked scornfully.

"Oh my," I said, counting off my replies from my fingers. "Um, here I am, nothing much, and yes I'm afraid so. Did I answer all three? Good. Who wants to sit and relax before supper?"

"I'm going to retire to my chamber!" Eustace squeaked with some ferocity, marching away from us. "But it would be more properly named a dungeon!"

"Good, well, if that'll settle him down," Edmund sighed. "I'll sit with you."

They joined me on the bench, and Caspian left to consult with officers about the order of victuals to be purchased in the Lone Islands, to prepare for a long journey with three extra mouths to feed on board.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Lucy sighed with happiness, resting her arms over the rail and admiring the blues and greens ripple below. "This was not what I expected to happen—this will make our aunt and uncles place so much more bearable!"

"Let's not think about them," Edmund said quickly. "I want to forget all about England while we're here."

"Before you do that," I urged, "At least tell me what Peter and Susan are doing nowadays."

"Well," Lucy narrated, "Susan is in America with Father and Mother. She's been, you know, introduced into society there, and…" she trailed off, getting a rather pained expression on her face. "She cares little for school anymore. In fact they say she is rubbish at that sort of thing. She still loves reading, she is still smart, and a good swimmer…"

"But she just doesn't care about studying," Edmund put in. "I can't say I blame her!"

"It's not just that," Lucy said sadly. "She has put school, Narnia, and everything behind her. Really."

"She still believes in Narnia, doesn't she?" I asked, dreading the answer. I know Susan to be the one in the family—based on the later books—that eventually stops believing in Narnia. In fact, if any of her siblings brought it up, she'd say something like, "Oh, fancy you still remembering the games we used to play as children!" and naturally—that broke the hearts of her Narnian siblings who remembered their reign as clearly as yesterday. But I hoped, as I asked, that she wasn't to that stage yet.

"Of course she believes in Narnia!" Lucy exclaimed, horrified. "How could she _not _believe in Narnia? I mean, it's happened. We were here for years. We're here now."

Edmund was less eager to agree with her. "She says she doesn't like to talk about Narnia anymore. If we bring it up, she rolls her eyes and won't join in."

"That's sad," I said slowly. "I wonder why?"

Lucy shrugged. "It must be a phase."

"I don't think so," Edmund said, in that calculating, thoughtful tone of his. "When we got back last time—she didn't even tell you or Peter, Lou—she went out one day, it was the summer holidays. That school year—jumping from Caspian's rebellion to a train station ready for school—the transition must have been too hard to handle."

"Go on," Lucy said, wide-eyed at this new information.

"Well, she went out, like I said, and was sitting on that bench—you know, the one Dad put in the garden. I heard her crying and thought she stepped in a bee's nest or something, but she was saying, _Aslan, if you're real, you'll answer me. If you're real you'll take me back. _And she kept yelling that, over and over. _Take me back. _I was so shocked, I just stood there. Finally, she stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and said, _I guess you were just a dream. _Then she went to the house. She never knew I saw her."

"She was trying to bargain with Aslan?" I said sadly. "Poor thing."

Lucy hesitated. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was going to tell you, actually. When you got Susan's letter. Then Eustace interrupted. And then the painting—well, we're here."

"Earlier would have been lovely."

"There was never a good time."

"Susan could be lost to Narnia forever," Lucy said slowly, "The funny thing is, the thought has occurred to me—I mean, I feel as if I've known she would be the one to deny it—all along. And yet I never actually suspected her of disbelief before now."

"But it makes sense," Edmund said. "It explains all her weird behavior."

"I believe Susan will come to Narnia in her own way," I said firmly. "Somehow. Maybe long after you two have tried and failed to convince her otherwise. Don't ever give up on her."

Lucy was trying to compose herself.

"I didn't want to make you cry, Lucy," Edmund said, tiredly.

"I'm not crying," Lucy sighed. "I just feel sort of tired. And wrung out."

I moved beside her, and put my arms around her. She settled comfortably, a worn head weighted on my shoulder. She sighed.

"You smell kind of funny," she said eventually.

"Just you wait," I promised her, "You will be washing out of a bucket with weird soap just like I have to you. You will join me in my funny smell-ness."

Edmund made a face. "Uck. Girls."

"Sexist," I accused, shooting him a glare. "You and Aemon should be best friends."

"Who is Aemon?"

"My ex-best friend," I said shortly.

Edmund laughed. "Why aren't you friends anymore?"

"Oh, we're friends. He just has this moody thing. He gets so grumpy. Speaking of grumpy—how is Sir Grumpy Pants?"

"Who?" Edmund asked. "You mean Peter?"

I burst into laughter. "That's exactly who I mean!"

Lucy lifted her head and broke into chuckles as well. "A well-suited nickname, poor dear…"

"What is he doing?" I asked.

"Studying with Professor Kirke," Edmund informed. "He's preparing for his exams. You know the old Professor lives in a cottage now?"

"A cottage?" I said slowly. "Not the big house?"

"Ha!" Edmund pointed at me accusingly. "So you DO know about the house we lived in before we first came to Narnia! We hadn't even met you yet."

"Guilty," I said. "It's in the history books." It was so easy to lie sometimes. "But why a cottage?"

"He's poor now," Edmund said flippantly. "I think the war ruined him financially. But he had room for Peter to stay. He's going to Oxford—or is it Cambridge? He doesn't talk to us as much as he used to, but he is of course still adamant about his belief in Narnia. The Professor wouldn't let him act like Susan even if he wanted to."

Lucy shrugged. "He misses Narnia wherever he goes."

"And he's still terribly big-headed?" I added.

"Oh, very," Edmund agreed. "He's _High King_ wherever he goes."

…

Though I still felt sour at Aemon, it didn't excuse skipping out on kitchen duty. I finally told Edmund and Lucy that we'd have to finish catching up after supper, and that I'd be needed till after everyone had eaten and the dishes were scrubbed with a bit of sand and saltwater. Edmund begrudgingly agreed, and Lucy immediately asked if she could help.

"I am handy for whatever needs doing," she pleaded, and how could I say no to those big baby eyes of hers? Not easily, and I didn't want to.

"I've a mind to go ask that Rhince fellow about how he works the tiller through that dragon's tail," Edmund said, with a grin. "You girls have fun."

Lucy and I trotted into the galley, and I announced, "Tusk, I'm back, hoping for forgiveness and a job to do."

"Did you hear that, Aemon?" Tusk's brown face crinkled up in grin. "She wants forgiveness!"

Aemon harrumphed.

"Thass' as close to a forgiving as you can get," Tusk informed me.

"Perfect," I said dryly. "Uh—Tusk—may I present Queen Lucy the—uh—Valiant?"

"Yes you may!" Tusk exclaimed, bowing immediately. "And may I humbly welcome Queen Lucy to my kitchen? I'm afraid it isn't quite up to par with what your Majesty might be accustom to…"

"Good heavens," Lucy replied, jovially. "It's a fine improvement from the last, sir. I'm afraid our place of previous residence was all vegetarian."

This was met with an awkward silence.

"What is a vegetarian?" Aemon asked.

"Someone who does not eat meat," I said.

"Why would someone do THAT?" Aemon asked, horrified.

"Health," Lucy said, quick to defend her aunt and uncle Scrubb, lest they get the idea she was complaining about them personally and not her own preference. "Not that they aren't—uh—charming people, of course, but it was a bit of a dietary shock. I'm sure that I'll love anything we eat here—I can assure you. I'd rather eat stale bread in Narnia than cake at Buckingham Palace."

"If you could get around the Queen," I joked, imitating a posh British accent. "Oh, tut tut, child! Don't you like sweets? Sugar rations do not exist here, of course!"

Lucy and I laughed heartily, but Aemon and Tusk were lost.

"If you were British, you'd get it," I said to Aemon, with a triumphant expression.

"I'm sure you aren't British, whatever that is," Aemon snapped back.

"Oh, touché, and it cuts me deeply," I wailed.

…

The next day passed very much like the first, without the exciting interruptions of 'man overboard' of course. Lucy and I awoke early, and she insisted on coming to the galley with me. Tusk gave her the task of feeding the chickens, because she insisted on helping, despite being royalty. Edmund managed to go all over the ship, from keel to crow's nest, exploring and helping and learning. He seemed to like it very much.

We passed each other on deck, I was on my way to my cabin to use the chamber pot, and he was on his way to the lower deck for a fresh oil to deliver to a sailor for the ropes.

"All right then, Pippin?" he asked, as he walked by.

"Mhm," I replied, with a smile. He reached over and gave me a quick hug, and sighed. "Everything okay?" I questioned.

"Yeah, everything's perfect," Edmund said. "I just can't believe we're all here. You know? I was so afraid that when I woke up this morning, it'd be a dream, and I'd be back at the Scrubb's."

I squeezed his arm. "I know what you mean. Don't worry. This is all real. It's not a dream. And Aslan won't send us back until this adventure is over."

"Yeah, yeah, good point," Edmund resumed his pace towards the other end. "I'll see you at supper, yeah?"

"See you," I grinned. I, too, was almost hit with a sudden wave of sadness. Was this my last trip to Narnia? Would I ever see any of them again?

…

At dinner, Edmund, Lucy, and I sat together on one end of the table, across from Caspian, Drinian, and Rhince. We were chatting amiably, I was updating them on my college courses, and gave them a little more insight into our adventures just after we left Narnia. Caspian seemed to disagree with a few of my assessments regarding the tournament, but they just laughed off his protests.

Suddenly, laughter ceased when we heard a shrill shout.

Eustace came blundering through the door, hold his hand, and screeching like a boy who's just been stung by a wasp or two. "The little brute half killed me!" he cried, pointing to a shape just behind him.

Reepicheep scuttled through the door, a grim little smile on his furry face.

Eustace was still blabbering. "I insist that it be kept under control! I could bring an action against you, Caspian!"

"Your Majesty," corrected Drinian, dryly.

"I could order you to have it destroyed!" yelped Eustace.

"Order the King to do anything?" Orpheus repeated.

Reepicheep twirled his sword momentarily. "Begging your pardons," he said stiffly, "Had I known he would take refuge here, I would have waited for a more reasonable time for his correction."

"What on earth's up?" Edmund exclaimed.

"It was just a mistake, is all," Eustace blurted.

"Grabbing a knight of Narnia by the tail," corrected Reepicheep, "Especially a tail from Aslan himself, young man—is no mistake. Especially when said young man throws him about like sack of flour. I gave you a few good jabs in the hand, and I have challenged you to a duel—and what is your answer? Screaming! And running! Go on, then," Reepicheep waved his rapier. "I want a real answer!"

"Duels! With talking animals! This place is mad! MAD!" Eustace shrieked again.

"Oh, a duel, how lovely," Edmund said, with an evil glint in his eye. "Drinian—if this is to be a fair duel—ought Eustace not to be handicapped in some way? After all, size alone gives him a horrible advantage, begging your pardon, Reep."

"Handi- what?" Eustace said, in horror.

"Perhaps," the Captain replied, "Or maybe he should perform the entire duel from his knees. For what he possesses in size, he is almost certain to lack in skill."

"I shall have my satisfaction," Reepicheep added, "Size and strength are no matter!"

"Shall I lend you my sword?" Caspian asked, with a smile.

"You're all mad, mad, mad!" Eustace muttered horribly, wringing his hand still. He backed out of the galley slowly. "To think I'd lower myself to violence with a mere circus animal!"

"Say you're sorry," Edmund finally said, with some authority, when the laughter died down. "That's the only way you'll get out of this without a little sword in your gut."

"I'm _sorry,_" Eustace apologized, pouting terribly. He turned and fled for his cabin in the lower decks.

All the sailors finally burst into a fit of laughter, including Reepicheep. He sheathed his sword and came up to our table to join us. Lucy shook her head and tried not to laugh, but even she had to admit it was funny.

"I must go see to him," she eventually said, with a sigh. "He'll sulk all night unless I give him a little bandage for that hand." She got up and left the galley, leaving Edmund to roll his eyes at her kindness.

…

The next morning, I was in my cabin, making up the bed and putting away clothes from the day before. Lucy and I had stayed up late the night before, having a girl-chat as she played around with my colored pencils and sketchbook. Eventually we'd dropped off to sleep, sprawled over an open notebook and pencils that ended up everywhere.

I had just finished my cleaning when I heard Klaire excitedly shout "Land in sight!"

There was a scrambling of footsteps above and out, pattering along the deck as people rushed to look and voices chimed in with questions and exclamations. I hurried with my last task, slamming my trunk shut and finally running out to join them.

I had the good sense to wear pants and boots today. If we were going on land, I'd like to look nothing like I did during the tournament. I had also tried to wash my hair recently, which meant it was damp and hanging lankly around me. I looked, for all intents and purposes, like a real sailor-girl. Or a thirteen-year-old boy with long hair. Take your pick.

I got to the railing and looked over. In the distance, there was a green island, and behind it, a gray island. I looked up, and saw Edmund and Caspian talking on the forecastle. Lucy was clapping her hands and pointing, and Drinian was following her gaze and smiling at her.

I ran to join them, went carefully up the ladder, and stood at their sides.

"It's Lone Islands, right?" I asked.

"Indeed," Caspian said, with a warm smile in my direction. "And are they not a sight for sore eyes?"

"Are we to put in here, Sire?" asked Drinian.

"It wouldn't be any good to land at Felimath," Edmund advised. "That's the island closest to us. They only grazed sheep there, and still looks relatively uninhabited. Most of the people live on Doorn—that's the one behind it—and Avra, which you can't see from here."

"We may have to double the cape then," Drinian mused. "And land on Doorn. That means a bit of rowing."

"Oh," Lucy said, disappointed. "I'm sorry we're not landing on Felimath. It's quite small, and good for a walk, you know. It has a nice kind of loneliness to it—all the grass and clover and salty air…"

"Tell you what," Caspian said, with a brotherly smile. "Why don't we take a boat down and walk across Felimath? The Treader can pick us up on the other side, and we'll put in at Narrowhaven in Doorn. What do you think? I want to stretch my legs a bit too."

"Oh, yes, please!" Lucy said eagerly.

"I'm in," I said.

"Me too!" Edmund declared.

"And you'll be joining us, won't you, Eustace?" invited Caspian, in a polite tone.

"Anything to get off this blasted boat," Eustace's voice piped up. I hadn't even noticed he was there. He was sitting, with his bottom lip out, on the bench on the other side of the deck. He had been silently participating in the adventures thus far and finally had an opportunity to show off more of his imbecilic opinions.

"Blasted?" Drinian asked. "How do you mean?"

"In my civilized country," Eustace said with a sneer, "The boats are so big that you can't even tell that you're at sea."

"In that case, you may as well stay ashore," Caspian said crisply.

I mentally pictured him snapping in a Z formation as he said it.

"Lower the boat!" Caspian commanded, and Neil, Flanagan, and Robin hastened to obey. I caught Robin's attention as we descended. "Wish we could all go for a hike," he said wistfully, looking out over the railing.

"Come with us!" I suggested. "I'm sure they'd let you."

"Nonsense, someone has to be able to bring this boat back up, and that's me," Robin said with a smile. "This is Caspian's party. If we were docking, maybe then. But the ship's got to have a full crew."

"I suppose so," I said. "Next time, certainly?"

"I can't miss another opportunity to see Ave and Aemon beat the daylights out of each other," Robin laughed charismatically. "Bring me a shell if you like."

"A shell for the pretty girl back in Redhaven?" I asked, slyly.

Robin stared at me in surprise. "How did you know about that?"

"Night crawlers talk," I said mysteriously.

"Well—yes, if you must know. I told her I'd try to bring her back a few trinkets from the voyage."

"That's sweet of you," I said. "What's her name?"

"Her name was Hon," Robin fought a grin. "We—uh—we hadn't met before. But we sat together at the feast in the pavilion and started talking. We never stopped talking. Even that night, we left the pavilion and she showed me a few of the inner-island sights…"

"Oh, really," I said, eyebrows rising.

"We sat by a waterfall and talked until the sun rose," Robin said. "There was just an unbelievable connection. I didn't know I could find someone so perfect for me in such a short time."

By this time, my hands were folded and I was watching him with dopey, dreamy eyes. "That's wonderful!" I wailed.

"Oh, shut up," Robin blushed, offering me a hand. He helped me into the boat, and then Edmund and Caspian jumped in from the other side. Reepicheep crawled over the stern, and then Robin helped Lucy in. Eustace had to clamber in of his own strength. Robin and Edmund took the oars.

…

When we reached the sand, Caspian hastened to jump out and pull it up, so as to not 'let the ladies walk in too deep a surf' which made me want to jump headfirst in the water and say 'FOR ASLAN!' just to see his face.

The six of us waved cheerfully to Robin as he rowed the boat back to the ship. We turned and proceeded up the beach, to a grass-covered ridge.

It was perfectly peaceful across Felimath. The grasses and clover were soft and short from the sheep keeping it fairly mown. The grass wasn't brittle like most sea grasses, fine for Lucy's bare feet to walk on. There were a few stunted, scrubby trees along the ridge, where a bird or two sat and called in harmonious cries. Over our shoulders, our ship began to be rowed, and they crawled steadily through the sparkling waters.

We all had sea legs, but it wasn't too noticeable, since we had to climb the steep hill anyhow. We tripped through the warm, pleasant sands, and thanked the Lion for the cool breeze coming from white, fluffy clouds in the north. If it had been a horribly hot day, we would have been miserable from the impromptu hike.

When we walked over the top of the hill, and began to descend on the other side, we were soon out of sight from the Dawn Treader. We could see across the mile-wide channel to Doorn, where Narrowhaven—a sparkling, white little village—sat on the edges of the island. On this shore of Felimath, there appeared to be a very small fishing village, with only three or four homes standing, all of them the color of white sandstone. There was a small rowboat pulled up on the beach, and in the channel, a dirty, dark looking ship.

"Hello, what's this?" Edmund exclaimed quietly.

We walked down the sandy path between lawns. A short distance ahead, there was a small tree alongside the path, with seven men sitting beneath it. They were rough looking, bearded, armed, and chatting merrily over food and drinks. They looked unsavory as hell.

"Don't tell them who we are," Caspian whispered.

"Why not, your Majesty?" Reepicheep whispered back.

"It just occurred to me—does the Lone Island still acknowledge Narnia's lordship? We haven't heard from them since my Father's time."

"We have our swords, your Majesty."

"If I have to re-conquer the Lone Islands," Caspian hissed, "I'd much rather come back with a larger army."

We were nearly upon the strangers now.

"Good morning," called the nearest one, a big fellow with a black beard and squinty, darting eyes. He seemed to take us all in, appraising us, a half smile twitching in the corner of his mouth.

"Good morning," Caspian said, amiably. "Tell me—is there still a Governor of the Lone Islands?"

_Ah, the City of Portland trick, _I thought_. When approached by a scary stranger, speak loudly and confidently. Show them your not afraid. Then run like hell. _This had, honestly, worked for me in several occasions when approached by seedy people in the darkness of a city known for it's human trafficking and desperation. _Caspian, just get your answer and move on…_

"Aye, Governor Gumpas," Blackbeard answered. "He's there in Narrowhaven. Would you lot care for a drink?"

Caspian gave us a nervous glance.

I shook my head at him, mouthing the word _No. _

"Your companions are thirsty," said the Blackbeard. "Fresh pomegranate juice?"

To my horror, Caspian sat down with a nervous "Thank-you, kind sirs."

Following suit, Reepicheep and Lucy sat beside him. Edmund and Eustace were less inclined to do so—Edmund didn't like this bunch either, and Eustace didn't want to be dirty—but they were slowly lowering themselves as well.

"We should go," I said slowly, catching eyes with Blackbeard. It was an unfortunate glance, his eyes narrowed at me, as if he had read my mind and determined that he would enjoy proving my instinct right. He turned slightly and nodded to his companions.

In a flash, each surly, ugly, brutish man leapt forward and tackled a person from our party nearest to them. Caspian and Edmund cried out instantly, Lucy very nearly jumped to her feet, Eustace squeaked, and Reepicheep was held down by a mere hand.

It all happened so fast. But as most people are unaware of, terror will do two things to me. I will either sprint away like a Scandinavian Olympian, or, my knees freeze up and I literally tip over like a fainting goat. Lots of people have 'flight or fight' and mine was 'flight or fall'. Luckily for me, it wasn't the latter this time.

In a mere second, I had dashed a good thirty feet or so. I booked it. I was like the Flash and Superman rolled into one. My fear pumped my veins full of battery acid (thank-you, Fight Club) and I was flying.

Till, of course, I was tackled by one of the men. I was laid out, my face skidding across the grass and sand, elbows burning and chest pounding with the impact of being knocked, flat out, onto my face while at a dead run. I struggled, but it was no use. The man behind me growled, "Get up!" and had my wrists in a death-like grip, jerking me upwards to my feet when my body didn't respond to his command.

I looked around wildly, dazed with the football methods being applied here. I had very nearly made it to the top of the ridge where, my mind had hoped, I could flag down the ship from here. Who was I kidding? They were around the point by now, and wouldn't see me. I hoped Reepicheep didn't think I was a coward.

The man looped his arms through mine, successfully keeping me unable to move anything except my feet, which I kicked out in front of me or planted firmly in attempt to escape. Nothing helped, and nothing worked. I was captured, plain and simple, as were the rest. I could hear them shouting. Lucy was crying. They were a short distance ahead, being brought into the little square between buildings. Reepicheep was the loudest of all, squeaking indignantly and shouting insults and shrieking with demands that were ignored for the most part. The men were tying them together with ropes.

I saw Lucy look up at me, tears streaking silently down her face in despair.

"I hoped you were going to make it," Edmund said with a slight choking tone, when the man shoved me over to him. Our ankles and wrists were tied together, with enough slack between us so that we could move without falling into each other.

"Since when have I ever been able to escape anything?" I pointed out. Whether it was a two-person duel, an angry Miraz, a gate that I should have escaped from—thanks to UnHappenings—the devils that, I hoped, would never make an appearance due to the inconvenience—I had horrible luck with escapes. They never turned out in my favor.

"Where will you take us?" cried Lucy. The men were tightening a few knots, nodding, muttering to each other with delighted voices, and flicking Reepicheep in the ear whenever he piped up with another insult.

"Over to Narrowhaven," said Blackbeard casually, as if he were taking us over for ice cream. "Market Day tomorrow."

"Is there a British consul there?" asked Eustace, brightening immediately.

"Is there a which?" exclaimed the Blackbeard, with a laugh. He had no inclination to listen to Eustace as he tried to explain what it was. Truth was, I don't even think Eustace knew what it was.

"Are you all right?" Edmund asked me in a low voice. The men were pulling up a rowboat closer to us, scraping across the sand and the pebbles. They seemed quite determined to move us off Felimath.

"I'll be sore," I sighed. There was sand in my hair and shirt, my elbows and knees felt raw with the fall, and my face stung with scratches along the chin. "It's not like I haven't tripped before."

"We saw him jump you," Edmund said.

I chose not to answer. I'd never been jumped before by someone intending to bring harm to my friends and I. It was more terrifying after the fact, surprisingly. I didn't have time to think about it _while_ it was happening.

"Now, then," said Blackbeard, "Let's have no fuss and then you'll have nothing to cry about. All aboard."

We were pushed towards the side of the long boat. We looked towards Caspian with some hesitance.

"It's all right," he said in a low voice, "Let's comply." But he was still worried.

Suddenly, one of the doors opened in the nearby home. A stately, older gentleman stepped out on the stoop. He wore a silver beard, a long robe with gold threading, and possessed an air of importance though not necessarily wealth or title.

The slave-dealers immediately snapped to attention, and Blackbeard looked quite annoyed with this new development.

"Well, Pug," he said sternly, with a hard look at Caspian. "More of your usual wares?"

"Oh yes," said Blackbeard with a sneer and a small bow. "If it pleases your Lordship."

"How much do you want for this boy?" said the older man, pointing at Caspian.

"Ah, his Lordship would pick the best," Blackbeard said, getting a very nasty, clever look. Before we knew it, they began to barter. They were literally haggling the price for Caspian's purchase. The older gentleman referred to Blackbeard—or, Pug, I guess—as _carrion, _so I assumed he didn't like the slave trader. But why buy slaves if you don't support slavery? Are all these people so backwards?

And then, they finalized the price. Caspian was being untied from the rest of us by two of the brutes.

"Oh no, please no, don't separate us, you don't understand…" Lucy sobbed, struggling to cling to Caspian's arm.

Caspian gently shrugged her off, whispering, "It's all right. It'll all turn out for right in the end. Do as they say, and they won't hurt you. So long."

"I'm sorry I cannot buy you all, little maiden," said the new owner with sadness in his voice. "Keep them well, Pug, or it'll be the worse for you."

Then he took Caspian by the elbow and led him away, down the lane, and disappeared between the two homes. Caspian went with him willingly, but kept looking over his shoulder at us, trying to give us reassuring glances.

Without the finely-dressed man watching, Black Pugbeard grew less amiable and more pirate-like. "All right! In wich' ya!" He exploded, shoving Edmund hard, till we all fell into the long boat, trying to untangle ourselves in our bonds and sit upright. Four of the other men got in, two stayed behind, and returned to their tree for their happy little picnic items. They began to row us out to the ship. There was black pitch along the sides and the sails were in poor condition, and all the men aboard had dreadful smiles and horrible smells.

They forced us to climb up a slippery rope ladder, till we were aboard the deck. Men gathered around, giving us casual glances, and muttering phrases like _Fetching a fair price _and _We'll be all the richer if we sell the talking pet rodent. _It was all Reepicheep and Eustace could do to stay quite with such demeaning remarks, but a quick elbowing from Edmund kept them quiet.

"Into the lower deck," commanded Pugbeard, opening the hatch and shoving Eustace down the stairs. Lucy followed quickly, shrinking away from Pug's helping hand. Reep was fairly tossed down (Lucy's rope would have jerked him down anyway if he had waited for too long) and suddenly, Edmund seemed to snap out of his silence.

"I'm not going down there," he said, the shake in his voice betraying his fear. "I—I demand to speak to your captain."

"Yer lookin' at him," Pug grinned, drawing back his arm.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, but Pug threw his fist forward, punching Edmund hard in the jaw. Edmund was knocked over, the rope jerking my wrists as he fell.

"Stop! Stop!" I shrieked at Pug, almost hysteric. "It's okay! I'll get him! I'll get him!" I stooped down and hoisted Edmund up by his arm. He looked horribly dazed. "Come on," I hissed, "It's okay. I've got you." I pulled him down the stairs after me. Edmund stumbled down, and together, we fell into a heap of straw at the bottom, where Lucy leapt into Edmund's arms, and even Reepicheep stopped challenging everyone to a duel_._

Eustace was whining about something, and I reached over, and grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look at me.

"You listen to me, and you listen very carefully," I growled angrily. "Don't you dare ask anyone about the British consul. In fact, don't even speak. If you speak I sla—no, _pinch_ you so hard that your future children will have bruises. Our lives are in danger and you might make it worse if you don't _shut up."_

Eustace looked terrified.

"Understand?" I added.

He nodded numbly.

The hatch above us slammed shut. We could still see around the hold, from the patterned light of the openings in the deck which let in a little sunlight. There were many others around, huddled up, tied together, perhaps twenty or thirty in all, Galmian or Terabinthian—no one we knew. There smell was horrible. The straw was crawling with fleas.

"Edmund," I said, turning around. "Are you okay?"

Edmund look at me over Lucy, who was crying softly into his chest. "I think so," he said, flexing his jaw and wincing. His lip was bleeding.

I pulled my sleeve down over my hand, reached over, and tried to dab some of it away. "You're kind of brave, you know," I said quietly. I pulled my arm back, and the stains were already turning copper in the stifling, stale air.

"So are you," Edmund whispered back.

Eustace made a disgusted sound, and I reached over and pinched his arm. I barely touched him, but it was enough to remind him of my threat. What young boy is threatened by a mere PINCH? Eustace, unfortunately, truly was a coward.

"Does the history books say anything about this?" Edmund whispered worriedly, shifting his arms around Lucy so that she could just hide her face in his shirt, her crying ceasing but her shaking remained.

"Of course they do," I stated flatly. "I… I think we're rescued soon."

"You think?" Edmund repeated.

"I don't remember this part," I said honestly. None of the movies translated this scene like the book. I thought we would be well on our way to the Treader by now. I didn't remember anything about a slave ship.

The hours passed, and night began to fall, darkening the hold and lessening our hope for rescue. Reepicheep gnawed our ropes off, and proceeded to gnaw off the ropes of every other tired, starving prisoner within the hold.

"As my people once bit the ropes from our Aslan's body on the Table," he said to each one encouragingly, putting his tiny paw to a face and patting. "I set you free in this hold and hope He sets you free in your future." Hungry and half dead, most of the people nodded their thanks, rubbed their wrists, and fell into tired slumbers.

Lucy and I made a corner for ourselves behind some barrels, where we took a turn relieving ourselves. We felt pretty disgusted without chamber pots—who would think that a _chamber pot _would feel like luxury?!—but was grateful there was something to hide behind, anyway. Eustace sat up on the stairs, refusing to sit down in the straw.

Edmund, Lucy, and I curled up together, and Edmund threw his coat over us. Reepicheep refused to sleep, and said he'd rather keep guard over Her Majesty and her Royal Brother and the Lady. I couldn't help but feel that he didn't feel like leaving Eustace alone, either. He sat on the stair beside him, and tried to regale him with stories and adventures that he has had in Narnia. Eustace was trying to ignore him.

The three of us, however, itchy with straw and bugs, fell into an uncomfortable silence, and was eventually lulled to sleep by Reepicheep's voice.

…

* * *

**Next: It's Market Day and there are a couple of awkward Narnian slaves for sale. It's Caspian to the rescue, and then it's time to prepare the Dawn Treader for the next stage of her journey—unknown lands. But there's a storm brewing on the horizon, and that isn't just a figure of speech.**

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**Review Replies**

**Alexandra:** Oh yes, I know the ages are screwed up. It's because in my first story, the Dr. Pepper one, I wrote in movie-verse, which made Edmund about sixteen I think, because I was two and a half years older than him, so now he's about seventeen, and it was three years for me and Caspian but only one year for them—it's so hard to keep it all straight! I am writing in book-verse for this story, but trying to be consistent with the ages and circumstances of my last story, for continuity's sake.

**ClarinetRox88: **Well, shall I start calling you Your Highness now? Haha. I know what you mean. I have a crush on Han Solo when I was about seven. I loved him.

**Silimaira: **Haha, too many hugs, in my opinion. I was trying to write Edmund's character in a way that showed how he changed from the cold kid who betrayed his siblings, to the strong young man who loves his friends and family fiercely. He's always been my favorite character! And he always felt warmer to me, from reading the books, that is. More depth to his personality.

**Colbub: **I'm glad you like Edmund, he's my favorite too! The implied pairing is pretty much on accident. I've never written with the intention of any of that being there, there's just a few things that slip or conversations that unfold on my page that seem to take on a life of their own. If it gets to be too much, I'll reign in it. Silly characters, taking over my finer plot points.

**ZombieKillerLevi: **Haha, not too much ass-kicking I'm afraid, since Eustace is after all just a whiny little blighter. But I hope you had a good time at camp and enjoyed this chapter!

**Softballgirl: **Robin is one of my favorites too. I'm afraid he's a bit more important to the plot than a lot of people realize. Unfortunately it's not in a good way, just a single sentence in C.S. Lewis's book that has sealed his fate. But you'll just have to keep reading to find out, muahaha…

**The Red Crayon: **How ironic you mentioned Of Mice and Men, since that's the title of this chapter! WEIRD! I'm so glad you got all my references, haha, especially the Hector one. It's a subtle quote, it is.

**Ari Saki: **Phone or not, your review was impeccably grammatically perfect and quite well-worded. Haha. I can't believe your ocean experience! THREE toenails? Ugh that's terrible, you poor dear. This is why I never ever swim in the ocean. Too dangerous. I don't like pain. Also I'm scared of the ocean, and sharks. But oh well. I'm glad you like my crew, I'm rather fond of them myself. I may have to use them for my original fiction, since they're all my own invention (except of course Rynelf, Orpheus, Caspian, Drinian, and Rhince, who are the only ones named/mentioned in the books and movies.)

**Locked in a Stony Tower: **Sorry this update took so long, haha. This summer was, at first, consumed with writing and nothing but writing. The latter half, however, was job searching and hanging out with friends 24/7. Now that fall is beginning, it will soon be job search and writing all the time again.


	14. On Wicked Shores

**Dear Readers,**

**Thank-you all for the lovely reviews. I know there are a few lurkers because the story traffic totally outweighs the amount of feedback, so just remember, I don't bite! I'd love to hear your thoughts! It's easy to leave a little message at the end of the chapter and you don't have to sign up on the site to do it. Thanks again. Love to all of you!**

**Happy reading,**

**Pippin**

* * *

**Author's Note: A reminder to all that the dialogue from the slave-market scene is quoted from the book, or paraphrased very closely. I did not invent the conversation between Caspian and Pug.**

**Author's Note 2: This has mostly been written late at night, since that's really my only time to write uninterrupted. It has been triple-checked for spelling/grammar errors, but there is no guarantee I got them all.**

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**…**

**…**

**Strange Things Happen**

**…**

**…**

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Chapter Fourteen,

On Wicked Shores

Night passed slowly and uneasily. I woke up every few hours in a panic, brushing at the feeling of a spider on my arms or face, thrashing from a dream about falling overboard. Some of the captured slaves that we didn't know were sick and coughing, making for loud groans of annoyance from the others. Reepicheep seemed as alert at four past midnight (I heard the man on the deck call out the time) as he did when he was insulting all of the abductors.

"Don't you need any sleep?" I whispered finally, when dawn was breaking. The light sliding through the cracks in the hull was gray and chilly.

"Mice are nocturnal," Reepicheep's whiskers twitched with a smile. "And I had far too much sleep during the becalms. I probably won't sleep for many more hours."

Footsteps began to move on the decks above us, creaking and thumping. Voices began to rise and commands were given.

"We haven't sailed, have we?" I asked Reepicheep.

"No, no," Reep assured. "We've been anchored all night. We haven't left the channel. Captain Drinian will have sent rescue parties by now."

"Good," I murmured. Our talking woke up Edmund and Lucy, and they both stretched, with identical yawns.

Eustace had, eventually, succumbed to sleep, laying his head back on the stairs behind him. He woke up with a terrible groan and felt the back of his neck. "Oi, this is bloody rotten luck," he said peevishly. "I've got a terrible crick in my neck. These savages will have to pay for a physician. They ought to hang if they don't."

"There, there, Mouthy," Reepicheep said quickly. "Keep your complaints down."

"Yeah," I added. "The loudest slaves are usually made into eunuchs."

Eustace gaped. Edmund laughed, but looked uncomfortable, just in case it was true. Lucy didn't know what I meant, but I'm certain she heard the word as a young-adult when ruling Narnia in the Golden Age. Her smile suddenly faded and she exclaimed, "Oh, Pippin. That's horrible."

…

Within a few moments of standing, brushing ourselves off, and Edmund abandoning his bug-infested jacket with a frown, the hatch above us was opened. Bleached white sunlight shot through, blinding us all.

"What the devil are ya all untied for?!" Pug's voice exclaimed from above.

"Tie them op individually any how," said another voice. "We need to sell 'em separately."

At Reepicheep's urging, we did not put up a fight. We stood, silently seething with passive faces, as Pug and his men came down the steps and began to tie our wrists up far too tightly. One of the slaves broke free from the huddling, ran up of the steps, and stepped out onto deck. I'm sure he planned on jumping overboard, but there was a horrible cry, and a thump just above our heads.

_Drip. _

Something splattered on the top of my head. When I reached to wipe away what I thought was a bit of kerosene or rainwater, my hand came back smeared with blood. I looked up.

_Drip._

Blood dripped onto my face this time, through a slit in the deck. I made an exclamation of disgust and tried to wipe it off. The man who tried to escape had been probably run-through with a sword, and his body had fallen right over where we were standing.

"Oh, no," Lucy looked at me, her face reflecting the horror.

I didn't stand under the bleeding man for very long. Once our wrists were tied, they led us out in a line. We went up the steep steps, were shoved impatiently along the deck, and made to disembark on the same rowboat that we arrived on.

"What was the point of that?" Edmund whispered as they began to row us to the opposite shore of Caspian's purchase—the town of Narrowhaven. "Why put us on a ship and never leave?"

"We gotta store you lot someplace, don't we?" Pug said loudly, overhearing. "You wouldn't fit in barrels or nothing. Except those four," He laughed and pointed at Lucy, Eustace, Reepicheep, and I. The rest of his motley crew began to laugh too.

…

Daylight was struggling to be warm. It was so refreshing to be out of that stinky, rotten keel that I didn't care about the morning cold.

The mist that came down over the very ridge we hiked the day before shone gold in the dawn, and made our breath come out in yellow clouds. The bay was sprinkled in deep greens and blues, and white caps shivered along the surface.

It was only when I saw the ocean that I realized how thirsty I was. We hadn't eaten or drunk anything since yesterday evening, just before we attempted to hike the small island. There was no way I was going to ask if we could have a drink. I didn't want to be the next person to bleed on someone.

Narrowhaven shined a brilliant, clean white. As we approached a long white dock, we could see the buildings closer. They were pretty fine establishments. The people standing about the open village were smartly dressed. There were Calormen everywhere—I recognized them from reading _A Horse and His Boy _a million times. They wore turbans and embroidered, silk clothes, and colored dye in their beards. Their eyes glittered in their tanned faces. You could tell they hailed from Tashbaan, the layered citadel that bordered the famous dessert south of Narnia and Archenland.

There was a road that ran alongside the harbor. We were forced to walk down it until there was an opening into the village, where there was a city square. A makeshift hut without walls sad beside this square with a platform set up in front of it.

Hundreds were gathered to bid, all crowding about the square, trampling the park's flowers and some children climbing up a damaged statue to get a better view.

We were made to sit inside the hut, and then they began to pull us out, one by one, and auction us off to the jeers and shouts of the mass.

Luckily for us, they passed out strange little crackers and ladles of water. We weren't exactly eating in luxury, but they let us have as much water as we wanted. We must have drank about twenty ladles between the five of us.

Edmund, Lucy, and I sat very close together. Reepicheep insisted on standing in front of us, hoping that they might sell him first and give us more time as free folk in case there was an opportunity for escape.

"We, uh, should make plans," I whispered, as Pug began to yell about each slave's qualities and ask for prices.

"What do you mean?" Eustace asked doubtfully.

"Well we can't very well just let them sell us, go home to our new owners, and just live in the service for the rest of our lives, can we? And we can't very well wait for rescue, either. As much as he wants to rescue us, I'm sure Drinian and the rest wouldn't enjoy going from door-to-door and asking if the house-slaves used to be on a Narnian ship."

"So we should figure out a place to meet, should we escape," Edmund added. "If we are trapped here for an indefinite amount of time, we shall try to escape when the bell tolls nine. If we can, we should meet down by the harbor. Then we could steal a boat, perhaps…"

"What if our new owner is from Calormen and we're shipped away?" Lucy asked worriedly, with a pointed look to several of the fancy men in the crowd.

"I hope those ones buy me," Eustace sneered. "If I'm to be stuck a slave, they look wealthy and pleasant enough."

"And they whip you brutally if you misbehave," Edmund said sternly. "I know the Calormene people—they are cruel, terribly cruel. You'd be lucky to survive more than a month in one of their palaces."

That shut Eustace up, for the time being.

There was suddenly a murmur from a group of men to our left, huddled together, knee to knee, talking rapidly in whispers.

"Hello, what's up?" Edmund asked, leaning towards one of them.

"I just saw someone in the crowd," said the other captive. "He was going on and on about something, he looked pretty panicked. He kept pointing back at the castle on the hill, where the Governor lives."

"So something has happened at the castle?" Reepicheep said. "That does sound intriguing."

"That's not all," continued the captive. "Snoot told me, that Ger told him, that he overheard Tumpy and Pug last night, sayin' that there was a rumor of a fleet arriving at Bernstead. A Narnian fleet—a thousand ships—and that there's trouble brewing if they march on Narrowhaven. But why would a Narnia fleet be here? This island pays homage to Narnia, so I last hear, so they ain't at war or nothing."

"That sounds like a rescue to me," Lucy whispered, her eyes lighting up.

"Don't be too sure of that, little girl," said the captive. "It's all rumor, I'm sure of it."

"A rumor started on purpose," Reepicheep added gleefully.

Suddenly, Pug was standing there. "Get back," he snarled, kicking our informant in the face. He flew backwards, landing on his back, blood streaming out of his nose.

"Why don't we try our luck with you, then?" Pug grinned wickedly, grabbing Lucy by her arm.

"No, no!" she cried fearfully.

"Listen, Lucy, it's going to be okay, it's okay, don't worry, I'm right here," Edmund shouted after her, trying to reach for her hand. But Pug shoved him aside and kept a good grip on Lucy's arm, pulling her up onto the platform and showing her to the crowd.

"Lot eighteen!" he shouted. "Do I hear fifteen crescents for a young, strong girl with years of experience in the kitchens and on the floors? Fifteen? Yes I see a fifteen, thank-you sir—are you going to let him get a steal like that? That's a bargain, it is, just for seventeen crescents—but we could go for sixteen! Sixteen, yes, I see the—ooooh, seventeen from the man in the hat—anyone else? Anyone? Eighteen? Any other bids? Seventeen then, going, going, gone—SOLD. To the man in the corner. Go on then, lass."

"Don't worry, Lucy!" Edmund's voice was lost as Pug reached back, grabbed him by the arm, and hoisted him up towards the platform.

"Lot nineteen!" he shouted. "Let's see here—we've got a fine worker here—stubborn and wiry, this one is! Perfect for stable work or construction labors! Take off his shirt, Tacks!"

Reepicheep gasped with the indecency of it as Tacks, another pirate, grabbed Edmund's shirt and pulled it up over his head, hiding his face but unable to remove it completely because his wrists were still tied together.

Pug was probably expecting more muscle because he laughed. "Still growing, this one!" he shouted. "Under twenty-five! He'll give you fifty years of hard work, this one! That's consistency you can't argue with."

Tacks pulled Edmund's shirt back down and gave Edmund a smart slap on the back of the head, as if to say, _good luck, champ!_

"Do I hear ten crescents? Eleven? Upon my honor, that's an offer of twenty from the man in the back. Do you see that? Twenty crescents! Do I hear twenty-one? Not one? Twenty—my my, this man really wants 'im! Going for twenty without even asking for fifteen! It must be my lucky day! Going! Going! Gone—SOLD!"

Edmund was jerked out of sight.

Next thing I knew, I was pulled up onto the platform. The sun was in my eyes, and I squinted, trying to see the crowd.

"Lot twenty!" Pug announced. "A bit small this one, but strong! Just look at that fierce look on 'er face! She's a hard worker—the sweat-stain, broken back type. She don't eat much so she's a money-saver in the long run, all right—under twenty five—she'll look after yer children and your animals and be good for several hours in the fields, too! Fetched right off a sunny hill where she might shepherd your sheep and fight off the coyotes! Can I get a ten? Ten! Eleven? Eleven! How's about a thirteen? FOURTEEN! Ho ho! That's fifteen crescents. Fifteen? Fifteen? Going—going—gone. SOLD! To the nice dark-faced man in the yellow turban."

Well, shoot. I'd been sold to a Calormen. I was pushed off the steps, in a dizzy sort of haze. I'd been sold like a hamster in a pet store. The Calormen who took my arm looked, surprisingly, not too bad. He was greedy and calculating, but had a warmness outside of physical appearance. It was more like an aura that seemed trustier than most.

"Don't try to run away, Girl," he said, in a shrewd tone. "Tashbaan is a beautiful place, and you will learn to love it as home. And you won't starve if you behave proper. Now be very quiet while I bid for another. Understand?"

I tried to remember how things worked in Tashbaan. It had been awhile since I read the book. While the plot and setting was something I couldn't easily forget, the dialogue was harder to recall. I was pretty sure there was a proper way to show respect and—perhaps—buy me more safety.

"Uh," I hesitated, and the Calormen looked down at me with a sharp, expectant expression. "Um," I continued, "The sun—shines—on our meeting." _Crap, that's from Lord of the Rings, with a star instead of the sun. But Calormen says the sun appears dark in their eyes when they're upset, so maybe this will convey the opposite._

"Does it?" said the Calormen, crisply.

"Yes," I added, more fervently. "And it will be an honor to serve in Tashbaan—under the rule of the Tisroc—may he live long and prosper."

_Crap! Live long and prosper? That's Spock's Vulcan thing for good luck!_

I thought I had ruined my chances for fair treatment, but to my surprise, the Calormen smiled. "The sun _does_ shine on our meeting," he said, "But after one mentions the Tisroc, we say 'may he live forever', not 'live long and prosper'. But I admire your efforts. You'll do very well."

"Thanks?" I grimaced. I looked around. Pug was trying to auction off Eustace now, and no one was bidding. By the looks of him—pale, small, and skinny—he didn't have the look for hard labor, and no one wanted to buy a slave that was crying like a little girl. Though I did feel a little bad for Eustace, or as everyone else knew him, Lot Twenty One. He priced him at five crescents, and no one bid. He offered him for free with the other lots. Still, no one would have him. He looked like a lazy weakling. Disgruntled, Pug put him in the back again and said, "We'll try your luck again later, Sulky One!"

But I wasn't worried, not anymore. I realized I had caught up to a portion of the book that I remembered. The slave ship bit had long fallen out of memory due to the shortness of Lewis's description, but this? This I knew.

And I knew rescue was coming soon.

Lot twenty-two was Reepicheep. He was biting and fiercely insulting Pug as he pulled him up. He threatened to muzzle him, and Reepicheep began to explain how he was a failure among men and the very stars would blink out if this savagery continued. This made the entire crowd laugh, and the very wealthiest began to bid high numbers for him. They all wanted him as an entertainment—a pet, a talking parrot, a clown or a jester—and after quite the haggle, he was sold for thirty-five crescents.

"Now then, gentlemen," Pug continued, pulling up another captive from the ship. "Fine Terabinthian agricultural laborer…"

The young man was recognizable from our night in the hold, but he had sat in the corner, sleeping for almost the entirety of our short stay. Knowing that he had been kidnapped from Terabintha made me sick—that's a long time aboard the slave ship.

"Under twenty-five—not a bad tooth in his head—a brawny fellow! Take off his shirt, Tacks! Look at that muscle!"

I felt saddened, watching his face. If I wasn't going to be rescued, I'd probably be a maidservant in a Tisroc's palace. He'd be working in a coal mine till he died of suffocation. We made eye contact, briefly, and I pointed up.

He slowly followed my gaze, up to the sky, and then looked down at me, confused.

I folded my hands together, as I was praying. These slight movements didn't attract the attention of my new owner. He was too busy bidding for the Terabinthian.

The Terabinthian seemed to understand. He closed his eyes for a moment, and seemed as if he was just mumbling to himself. But I figured he was pleading with Aslan for a miracle.

"Thank-you sir," Pug was pointing. "Twenty one is bidden! Twenty one! Twenty…" Suddenly he stopped, his mouth hanging open with shock.

There was a shuffle of sound at the back of the square. The entrance to the harbor road was filling up with a new crowd—a crowd in shining armor, clanking mail, and broad shields and plumed helmets.

And there was Caspian, standing in all his Kingly livery. Beside him was the man who purchased him, dressed in his fine robes.

"Down on your knees, every man of you!" the man shouted. "To the King of Narnia!" his voice held a level of authority that no one questioned. The man who purchased Caspian was one of the seven lords—I should have remembered that. I should have told Lucy and Edmund and Reep… so they wouldn't have gone through so much worry. Ugh, next time, a few spoilers could help with the stress levels!

Everyone in the square began to mutter quietly, lowering themselves to their knees. Whomever didn't stand was pulled down forcibly by the person next to them. Many spontaneously cheered, including Lucy, Edmund, Reep, and myself.

"Your life is forfeit, Pug," Caspian said, in a dark voice. "For laying hands on our royal person yesterday. But your ignorance shall be pardoned. The slave trade was was forbidden in all dominions a quarter of an hour ago. I declare every slave in this market free."

There was a spontaneous burst of cheers and raucous applause from the slaves. Everyone, including the indignant slavers, stood up.

I looked back at the Terabinthian, still standing next to Pug on the platform. At this, he wrenched his arm away, looked up at the sky, and then back at me, suspiciously. I gave him a grin. Rather than look at me critically as if I were a fortune-teller, he grinned back.

Caspian held up a hand, commanding silence. The voices died down. "Where are my friends?" he asked.

"We're here!" Edmund, Lucy, and I chorused all at once. Eustace appeared from behind the platform, waving his tied wrists, and Reepicheep added, "At your service, Sire!" in a squeaky voice.

My Calormen let go of my arm with a frozen expression of displeasure. I ran into the crowd, bumping headlong into Edmund and Lucy. Reepicheep coughed and shrieked,

"Make way, for the Lord and Ladies! Our King awaits us."

We giggled and laughed incoherently as the crowd parted, who was beginning to cheer again and clap at the spontaneous reunion. The people that were so excited were the ones at the edge of the square, the children and the fishermen, not the people who hoped to buy us. Those who had already paid money were silent and glowering.

Caspian met us at the edge of the square and shook all our hands with his face beaming. "It's good to see you," he said, nearly growing hoarse with relief. "Everything's all right now. Zacharias and Tusk are waiting just around the corner for you—go on."

"You're all right here, Caspian?" Lucy asked. "We can wait for you."

"I'm fine," Caspian said, squeezing her hand. "I've got to settle things with Pug and make a speech to the people. You all need to be untied. And someone has to fetch Eustace from behind the platform."

"Oh yes, please, find Eustace," Lucy begged. "Poor boy hasn't been sold, and that must be terrible for his self-esteem."

Edmund gave Lucy a bewildered look as we walked past a smiling Drinian, the Lost Lord who announced Caspian, Rynelf, Orpheus, Pan, Herring, and Olan. They made a very intimidating looking crew, but they all had smiles for us when we walked past.

"There's the little lost sheep," Zacharias exclaimed when he saw us. He looked like a painting of Moses, or Elijah, or some other Biblical figure, with his brown tunic and silver-white beard. He stood under a narrow archway, Tusk standing beside him, beckoning us over. One side of the arch led into the slaver's market, the other side, down a shrouded alley that gave a tiny snapshot of the glittering sea beyond.

"Aren't you both a sight for sore eyes," Lucy said gratefully.

Zacharius quickly went to work at cutting our ropes, first us girls, then Edmund, then Reepicheep. "This will feel much better," he said, in his throaty, kindly voice. As soon as I was undone, I gave Tusk a spontaneous hug. He smelled like garlic.

"There, there, Pippin," Tusk fought a smile.

Zacharias shook Edmund's hand and bowed. "It's an honor to serve you, my lord," he said kindly, and then he bowed to Reepicheep as well. "Sir Reepicheep," he greeted.

"Zacharias," Reep responded, with his own bow. "I can only imagine your prayers were with us during our captivity?"

"All through the night and day," Zacharias smiled. "I never slept."

Tusk gave us some salve to put on the rope burns, and pulled out leather bags sloshing with water, and a warm potato for each of us, from the huge bag slung over his shoulder. "Just to tide you over," he said, with sympathetic eyes. "I know they probably didn't feed you much, but the new duke is going to make up for that."

"And how exactly is he going to do that?" Edmund asked. "What about that governor that Caspian was asking about, anyhow? I don't suppose Caspian walloped off his head for allowing slavery."

"Ah, I can explain what happened there," Zacharias said. "The Governor Gumpas as been relieved of his duties. Caspian, while outlawing slavery, declared the Lord Bern to be the Duke of the Lone Islands. The annual tribute has been disbanded, and trade established once again. Tonight we celebrate in the castle of Narrowhaven with a feast."

"A feast!" Edmund exclaimed. "Can't say no to that."

"If the food is unheathy, you most certainly can," said Eustace's voice, joining us from the market. "These rich foods make the wealthy snobs so fat, you see. And it's a common knowledge that rats run rampant in the food stuffs of medieval settings."

"There's plenty of rats, metaphorically speaking," Edmund shot back.

"Here, let me cut those bonds off, Little Master," Zacharias said kindly, and that shut Eustace up for a moment at least.

"Wait, did you say _Lord Bern_ earlier?" Edmund asked, astonished.

"Aye, that I did," Zacharias answered. "The man who purchased the King is the Lord Bern, one of the very seven he has been seeking."

"Caspian must be so relieved, this journey really isn't for nothing," I sighed, thinking back on the conversation we had during the Redhaven celebrations.

"Of course it ain't for nothing," Tusk laughed. "Only six more to go."

I smiled but did not answer. Our conversation had been a private one, and I didn't need to try and explain what I meant.

"Please tell me we'll be allowed to return to the Dawn Treader and bathe and put on clean clothes," Lucy said, slapping her own arm suddenly. "I still feel bugs from the slave-ship."

Zacharias chuckled. "Back to the Treader? Nonsense, she must be prepared for the launching to unknown lands. There are supplies to purchase, repairs and maintenance to be done…"

"Oh," Lucy tried not to sound too disappointed.

"We are invited to stay in the castle, as it will be a two week process," Zacharias explained. "They have real plumbing—indoor bathrooms—and the Duke is ordering new clothes for all of the crew and passengers."

Oh, Lewis, I thought, how much you skimmed over this bit. I couldn't possibly guess what could come next, only I remembered that Lewis didn't spend much time on Narrowhaven after the slaving instance, except to have a heartwarming conversation between Caspian and Lord Bern—one that, I'm sure, I wouldn't be able to overhear.

The next sequence describes how happy Lucy is with all her new clothes, after the launch nearly three weeks later. I didn't—for once—think that it meant living in another castle for two weeks. I admit I was sort of relieved to be on land again. The ocean still terrified me to a degree. I just repressed it, and distracted myself with the people and the kitchen work. But now it seemed those repressed fears could take a bit of a vacation. We weren't going back to sea right away.

Before long, we were all shuffled along with other crew members. The Lord Bern's servants, and a few of his friends from town, I think, let the way to the castle.

The harbor road wound away from the strait, circumnavigating the village, till it began to climb up a bit of a hill on the other side, and behind a row of stately pines, there was the castle. It was nothing in comparison to Cair Paravel, but approximately closer in size and means to the castle in Galma. It was hulky, gray, boxy and surrounding by an iron-wrought fence, nothing too defensible. The castle itself was only about three or four stories tall, not including a probable attic and dungeon/cellar.

It looked like it was in the process of a clean-up, as well. Guards were sitting to one side in the grassy courtyard, polishing their armor. Banners of crimson with the yellow lion emblem were being brought out of a dark doorway, and servants were scrambling to whack the dust out of them and hang them on the fence and archways.

"Those banners are from our time," Lucy whispered to me. "They haven't been hung since our last visit, I bet."

"Trying to restore the castle to its former glory," I agreed.

Someone was running about the lawn between the fence and the big arched doors, with a pair of clippers in their hands, trying to cut down the tall weeds and trim the branches of a few small trees. Someone popped out from a window above, dumped something out of a cleaning bucket, and nearly splattered the tree-clipper. They hollered at each other for a second, and then realized we were approaching, and ducked away.

"It has improved a great deal," Zacharias said, with an approving smile.

"Improved? You call this an improvement?" Eustace exclaimed, sighing in disgust.

Suddenly a cloud of dust wafted over from a servant who was beating a banner with a broom, causing him to cough and wave his hand with annoyance.

…

We were led to chambers, a separate one for each of us. What the castle lacked in grandeur, it made up for in guest space. The opening hall was nothing short of ancient and dirty, but pretty. Stones of gray, lain like bricks, a long rug leading straight ahead, under an arch and into a dining hall with a long table set up like a T. The stairs went around the edge of the room, taking us up and over the top of the T, where the bedrooms spanned the entire length. The rooms were drafty, but the stained glass windows were intriguing and the beds had clean sheets. When I was deposited, I turned to ask a question about when and where we should meet after cleaning up, when the door was shut and I was left on my own.

"Hm," I said thoughtfully, exploring the room. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a pitcher and basin, and a chest. The chest had a few articles of clothing in it, so moth-eaten and dusty that I couldn't tell if they were shirts, tunics, or some other long top.

There was another door, between a cracked mirror (the glass was so foggy it was like trying to see what you look like in the reflection of a soup pot) and the wardrobe. I grasped the iron handle, lifted, and the wooden door creaked open.

There was a small bathroom. There was a wooden box with a hole in the top positioned discreetly over a drainage opening on the siding of the castle. There was a clawed-foot tub, another pitcher and basin, a bar of lye-rich soap, a cupboard filled with thick cotton towels, and a hairbrush actually made of wiry horse hair. I was way too exciting about this sort of luxury, but I had a feeling that living on a ship in the middle of the ocean sort of made it okay for me to feel this degree of happiness. Like I had earned it, in a way. I was never going to take it for granted ever again.

…

After a very hot bath, I went back into the chamber portion, only to find that my trunk from the ship had been brought up. The clothes inside had been taken away, with a small, handwritten note that said _Being cleaned. _A simple gray dress was left on the bed for me. It was long-sleeved, form-fitting, with a tight bodice and a long, floor-length skirt. Very much like the style of a house maid in the early 1900s. I loved it, though I was surprised at the century it seemed to hail from. I could only guess that—when Narnia began—the first King and Queen, Frank and Helen, brought several ideas from London, being a cabbie and a kitchen worker in that very era… when Digory Kirk, the old Professor, was just a little boy.

As soon as I put on the dress (it was a bit too long), I looked out the window, and thought about the night on a ship out in the bay filled with bugs and hurt, sick people. I hoped they were receiving proper medical care.

As I folded my towel and returned it to the bathroom, I realized that the burgundy colors were actually staining my hands a little. Towels from this day and age weren't exactly dye-proof, and the smears across my hands wore the bright color. Oh well.

Remembering how terribly I slept, I yawned. Then I walked a few feet over to the bed, fell across it, and was sleeping in a few moments.

…

I awoke awhile later—judging from the sun in the low sky, sending rays of light across the emerald ground, I figured it to be some time after four pm.

I went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, forcing myself out of the grogginess of a long nap. My hair seemed to have curled and calmed on it's own accord, a miracle in itself. It was growing longer, which meant the weight of it caused better behavior and less frizz. I'd be able to tie it back in a ribbon soon enough.

My stomach suddenly groaned, reminding me I was ravenous. Before I could worry about missing the feast, I heard the bong, bong of a dinner bell somewhere below.

And there was a knock at my door. "You ready or what?" came a cranky voice.

I opened the door and found Eustace standing behind it, lips pursed together and arms folded across his chest.

"I'm ready, little man," I said cattily, coming out into the hall, and shutting the door behind me. I couldn't help but enjoy his exasperated look. Someday, this boy would be a dragon, and we'd all be better people for it.

"I was sent to come get you," Eustace said, as if I was supposed to apologize for the inconvenience it caused him.

"Thanks for taking time out of whatever important thing you were doing," I replied casually. "I'm starving."

"No more than me," Eustace snapped, and unfortunately, he was right about that.

"What, did the potato from Tusk not fill you up?" I questioned innocently, looking down at the young boy. He was a bit smaller than me, but only a few inches shorter. But he still felt very much like a child to me. But, of course, college has a tendency to skew perspective in that case. Anyone younger than sixteen looks like a baby to me, and it's entirely on accident.

"No," Eustace replied, "Of COURSE that potato didn't fill me up. What an absurd thing to say."

"It's called sarcasm," I said. "It was a joke. Since we haven't had any real food since yesterday. Of course a potato wouldn't curb our hunger. You're supposed to laugh!" I added, slightly annoyed. "Why've you always got to be so serious all the time?"

"Because no one else is," Eustace argued. "No one on this bloody island seems to take things seriously. I mean, slave trafficking, it's barbaric, no one seems to think the place needs to be sterilized, and they're not cooking the shellfish properly. The entire place seems to be rigged as a danger to one's well-being."

I could see his point, but I wasn't willing to admit it. "So you think," I clarified, "That you can't take a joke because everyone else jokes around too much?"

"That's right!"

"That's a rotten way to live life," I sighed. "Because if you actually paid attention to anything any of the adults said around here, you'd hear wisdom, and laughter in the face of danger—not because their idiots, but because they're brave, and they can handle themselves and take time for a smile. You can be assured that Caspian takes everything very seriously, being a King isn't a plaything for him. It's a real job. And you're too thick to see that they're all good people because you're blinded by your own selfishness." I hadn't exactly lost my temper, but I felt he needed to hear it. I delivered my opinion very matter of factly, in a way that wouldn't make him feel _too _attacked.

Eustace and I were walking down the stairs now. I kept one hand on the stone railing, Eustace picked up speed so that he could leave me behind. "And you'll be the first one I report to the Consul," he muttered under his breath, "For your cheek and harassment to a British citizen!"

"What if I told you," I said evilly, "That I personally disposed of all the members of the British Consul? They had a station here on the island, and I crept in, captured them all, and fed them to the sharks?" It was far too wild a joke for him to believe it, but that didn't stop Eustace from turning around at the bottom of the steps, staring up at me in horror.

"You wouldn't have," he gasped. "You're just a little girl."

_Nearly twice your age, _my thoughts had a bit of a tantrum, but I didn't vocalize it. Instead, I held up both hands in my defense, showing off the towel stains from the runny dye. "You're right, of course," I lied casually, "I could never have…" then I stopped, and pretended to notice my hands. "Heavens," I said, "Blood just doesn't wash out, does it?" Then I smiled wickedly, hid my hands behind my back, and skirted around Eustace and proceeded towards the sounds of laughter and talk down the Great Hall.

Eustace gaped after me, stuttering out little sounds, trying to get words out. "You… you savage!" He finally managed.

I looked at him over my shoulder, held a finger to my lips with a _Shhhh_, and then proceeded into the dining hall.

…

The Pevensie Monarchs, their Most Annoying Cousin, King Caspian, the officers (Drinian, Rhince, Rynelf, Reepicheep, and Orpheus), all sat with Lord Bern—or, the Duke—at one end of the table. The rest of us could seat ourselves where we liked, as there was very little protocol to follow with arrangement. I spotted Tusk and the empty chairs beside him, and hastily walked towards that side.

Aemon interrupted my walk, and before I could say anything, he was reaching for my hand. I was surprised as he gripped it tight and shook it vigorously. "It is good to see you alive," he said solemnly. "I thought you were, uh, going to die."

"No," I said, trying not to smile. "I wouldn't dare die without permission from you and Tusk. It wouldn't be fair."

"Don't do that ever again," Aemon said sternly.

"I'll try not to," I assured, touched.

"All right," Aemon looked satisfied. He pulled out the empty chair next to Tusk, waited till I sat in it, then scooted it so close to the table that the arms boxed me in. Then he sat beside me, and stabbed his fork with far too much energy into his plate of food.

As dishes were passed down, it was terrible to try and choose which ones to eat and which ones to pass up. There were bread bowls stuffed with tomato sauce, cheeses, cilantro and small green onions; duck stew dripping in broth and grilled onions; a salad containing green peppers, beans, and dandelion; roasted bacon, beef, and turkey covered in gravy sauces, hollowed-out pumpkin shells full of fresh pineapples, grapes, strawberries, blueberries and green banana; puddings sprinkled with cinnamon, vanilla beans, and peppermint leaves; breaded wraps stuffed fresh tomatoes, basil, rosemary, and goat cheese; egg custards with whipped milk and ice, and lastly, all kinds of drinks; spiced wine, pomegranate wine, pineapple lemonade, icy water with strawberries floating in it, frothy cocoa, orange tea, cider, and fresh milk. I felt like I was doing a restaurant review in the Capitol. _And now, the Tributes last meals, personally picked out by President Snow… _

Just from _looking_ at it all, I thought I was going to pass out from a food coma. But after being so long without food, I was afraid of making myself sick. So I nibbled on the turkey, the pineapples, and the salad. It didn't take more than a half hour to feel full after eating a little. I guess it would take a day or two before I was eating like a horse again.

By the time I was sipping the orange tea, I was listening to the happy conversations around the table. Caspian and Duke Bern were going over the logistics of bring the Dawn Treader on shore tomorrow, using logs and horse-drawn harnesses to haul it into the beach, where all kinds of repair and preparation were going to take place.

"You won't get to help with that," Aemon said, noticing my interest in their conversation.

"I'm just listening," I protested.

"That's a job for experienced shipwrights," Aemon added.

"So you shouldn't help with that either," I retorted.

Aemon grinned suddenly. His smiles were so few that it was like a burst of sunshine. "No, I won't. But I will be helping Tusk cook for the construction crews and men from the island who are volunteering to help."

"That's a lot of people to cook for," I said from inside my teacup.

"Are you going to help us, or what?" Aemon asked, exasperatingly.

"I was already planning on it, hackles," I chuckled. "You get worked up so _easily. _It's quite hilarious."

"I thought you might be spending your island-time with that lot," Aemon said with a nod of his head, towards Edmund and Lucy.

"And if I did, it's none of your business," I said cheerfully. "They're my friends."

"But they'll be busy with royal… things," Aemon said. "That's all I meant."

"I think you assume too much. They might want to help US, actually."

"Three crescents says they'll spend these two weeks in the lap of luxury."

I felt like I was in an episode of Downton Abbey. If I had any money, I'd say, 'you're on', but I was rather penniless. "Tell you what. When we're not slaving over a hot stew pot with Tusk, you and I will spend some time with Edmund and Lucy. I'm certain you would get along."

"Spend some time?" Aemon said dubiously. "We don't just… 'spend time' with people. That's not how royalty works, and that's not how a sailor…"

"Hey Edmund," I said, a little loudly. Edmund and Lucy both turned expectantly. "If Lucy, Aemon, and I went for a walk around the island tomorrow—would you come?"

"Assuming of course Lucy is going," Aemon whispered.

"Oh yes, Edmund!" Lucy exclaimed. "You know how much we love exploring and taking walks. Do join us?"

"Sure," Edmund grinned.

"Told you," I hissed to Aemon.

"I'd pay money to see Aemon be on his best behavior among the Pevensie Monarchs," Tusk said. "If you make more bets with 'im you'll have a fair purse by the end of the first week." He slipped three crescents into my hand under the table, chuckling discreetly. "A little something to get you started… bet wisely."

...

* * *

**Next: When the island has been thoroughly explored and the ship made ready for the voyage into the unknown, a promised storm will arise and they will not emerge without tragedy.**

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**Reviewer Replies**

**ClarinetRox88: **Haha thanks! Good luck with your German and Science classes!

**KoKD94123: **You'll just have to wait and see, ehehehe… I like that you liked Edmund's fear of going down into the deck. I wrote that in his character because I figured he'd try to put up a fight once he realized the danger of being sailed away from rescue, but I didn't even make the connection between that and the repercussions of being the White Witch's prisoner. But I like that you believed it to work, since after all, being true to the character is important, even if the readers are way smarter than the writer, hehe.

**Silimaira: **Yup, no magic swords in my story! And sorry about the errors, I try to catch them all, but some escape my notice. And my 'next' should have been more specific, haha… it's like, for the next three chapters, not just this one. Still brewing.

**Softballgirl: **Wow, thank-you! =) Eustace is so annoying that sometimes I'm tempted to just leave him out, but he's important, so I can't do that. I miss Narnia too… ;)

**Ari Saki: **I'm terribly sorry I made you choke, but I am not sorry that I made you laugh. I'm stoked that I made you laugh! Hehe.

**The Red Crayon: **I've never actually read of Mice and Men. I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter! I am SO STOKED for Merlin I could just keel over and lay on the floor till it premieres. I admit, I like Darren Criss for his Harry Potter musical thing, but I don't watch Glee or Hell's Kitchen so I'm a bit out of the bubble there.

**ZombieKillerLevi: **Aw thank-you! So glad you enjoyed!

**MCH: **Thank-you very much, I'm happy you liked it =)

**Alexandraya: **Aw no worries, I know you weren't scolding me ;) It's just part of the awkwardness of moving from movie verse to book verse. I should have written Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper in book-verse, then I wouldn't have a problem in translation haha. Unfortunately trying to work with both is definitely a challenge!

**Penspot: **Aw thank-you so very much!


	15. While Facing Oncoming Storms

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Thanks for all your lovely words. Just so you all know, I did finally get a job. I've been really busy with it, but I'm grateful. It does mean longer wait periods for updates, but I'm sure you all understand. Happy Reading!**

**Love,**

**Pippin**

* * *

…

…

**Strange Things Happen**

…

…

* * *

Chapter Fifteen,

While Facing Oncoming Storms

Night was passed in blissful unawareness, and though I missed the rocking of the ship, I slept deeply and contentedly. The Pevensies and I set out in the mid morning, when the sun was already threatening noon warmth and the waves broke their white caps against dark boulders. We found a path that wound up the side of the hill, a steep climb for Lucy and I, not a problem for the boys with their long limbs—but Eustace lagged behind, regardless of whether or not he had the energy to climb quickly.

When Aemon and I met in the castle halls, right before they joined us, I said, "I've been considering your offer. Two crescents if Edmund joins the labors down on the beach. Three if one of them joins us preparing the food."

"Starting now," Aemon agreed wholeheartedly with an evil glint in his eye.

My three crescents from Tusk clinked in my pocket, practically asking to be joined by three more from Aemon. Lucy and I did a little snickering and giggling, listening to the attempts on Edmund's part to begin conversations with Aemon. Aemon climbed with firm steps and his answers were equally short and passive. Finally, we decided to stop torturing them with awkwardness, and joined in.

"Do you remember unhappenings?" Edmund asked me, as Lucy and I began walking side by side with them.

"Good lord, I do," I said vehemently. "I hated those things."

"What's that?" Aemon asked.

"Pippin threw off the balance of the universe," Lucy said with a twinkle in her eye. "When she showed up in Narnia, things happened—er, unhappened? Right?"

"Leaves fell upwards, ropes tangled themselves, a gate that closed behind me seconds ago suddenly trapped me in a courtyard I had just exited," I began to rattle them off. "Peter's sword existed before he found it, an air pocket sucked me into Miraz's camp where I was held prisoner…"

"Wasn't there a few more?" Edmund asked.

"I thought so," Lucy said distractedly, trying to remember.

"Oh, right, and you ended up in Peter's shirt," Edmund added.

"No, no, that wasn't an unhappening," I replied.

"Huh…?" Edmund asked loudly, mouth hanging open.

"I let her borrow it, nothing else fit," Lucy explained quickly.

I burst into laughter. "All this time, I thought you knew. We talked about it right after the night raid. Yes, I was wearing his shirt. No, it wasn't an unhappening, and I didn't steal it. Lucy handed it to me."

"I was a little preoccupied," Edmund said. "I was trying to tune out your chatter."

Aemon snorted.

"Not because she was annoying," Edmund said hastily before I could make an indignant gasp. "But because she was trying to cheer Pete up. Bit of a private conversation, really, so I was trying not to listen. Eventually they started arguing, though, and I couldn't help but overhear."

"You argue with everyone, don't you?" Aemon asked.

"No, just you lately," I snapped. "And Eustace. Isn't that right, Eus?" I glanced behind us.

Eustace was plodding along with a look of disgust. "I don't lower myself to arguments with girls," he said drolly.

"So what the devil is an unhappening?" Aemon demanded through our digression. "Have there been any during your visit, Pippin?"

"Not that I know of," I said, a little confused. "I don't know why they're gone but I'm bloody relieved. Unhappenings just seemed like… things didn't go right. Or happened more than once. Sometimes things disappeared. It's like I put something off-kilter in this world when I showed up. Like it was a sign that I wasn't supposed to be here. But I felt like I was supposed to be here—maybe it was just the cost of my presence. "

"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard," Aemon exclaimed.

"Maybe they've stopped because you've grown up," Lucy said, with a little smile.

"Are you saying my immaturity caused unhappenings?" I laughed.

"No, no," Lucy laughed. "I'm just teasing. But since they've stopped, maybe your age does have something to do with it. Growing up changes things."

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I've given up on growing up. I shall be a wicked, wicked elf child from now on."

"Uh oh," Edmund snickered.

"Someone ought to put her away," Eustace muttered.

"Hey," Aemon suddenly declared, whirling around. "That's enough. You might be related to the Monarchs by blood, but you're not my superior, and so I feel absolutely no qualms about telling you to _shut up _if you can't treat the ladies with respect. As unladylike as Pippin might be, she helps make your food every day when we're on the ship, so you should be thankful." He frowned and turned back, marching onwards as if the exchange didn't happen.

"Well _said,_" Edmund declared with feeling.

"You're all mad," Eustace whispered.

"Oh, please, Eustace," Lucy begged, "Don't be nasty. We're all friends here."

Aemon glanced at Lucy out of the corner of his eye, and something like a smile twitched at his mouth. I just knew he was going to like the Pevensies. I knew it.

…

We walked along the sandy path. It wound its way up the side of the island, hills and trees to our right and the shore—and eventually, a steep view—was always to the left. We found a place to sit on fallen trees, and watch the spectacle below. The tiny shapes of people hitched two rows of four horses to the Dawn Treader. When they gave a cry of _Heave! _the horses strained and pawed and began to pull the ship out of the shallow waters and onto rows and rows of round logs. Once on the logs, they could roll the ship into the area cleared for work. Cables and ropes were tossed to high, wooden towers, where they could tie the ship upright. A ditch held the ship's balance, keeping it from falling to its side. The horses were released into a grassy pasture near the beach, where they frolicked and rested from the intense work out.

They began all kinds of work. Scraping barnacles and other creatures from the hold, fixing up a new mast, replacing sails, replenishing supplies and filling new water barrels. They patched and tarred the wooden sides, caulking the cracks to reseal windows and openings, added two new chickens to our supply, and added an array of dried vegetables to our dry storage. Beds and hammocks were stripped and washed, and deliveries of new clothes and tools were delivered to all passengers and crew. The decks were stained, ropes were oiled and coiled properly, kerosene added to the lamps, the crows nest and tables re-bolted.

"I don't think they're properly preparing for a real sea voyage into the unknown," Eustace said presently. "A real ship should run on steam, and men who have had the correct schooling. And where are the propellers? Rudders are thing of the past in _England, _and for good reason. I shouldn't want to get back on that ship even if they do polish their ancient rudder and buy a few trinkets."

"We can always leave you behind," Edmund said crossly. "The science isn't as advanced here. How many times do I have to explain that?"

"We can't leave him behind," I protested. "How else will the British Consul find him? There aren't any on this island, remember, Eustace?" I said sweetly.

"I guess it's better to move on and hope they're on the next island," Eustace muttered unwillingly.

Aemon rolled his eyes, picked up a small stone, and chucked it over the side of the cliff, watching it clatter against the rocks and finally disappearing among the crevices.

"The stores they're loading will only give us a fortnight of eastern sailing," Edmund brought up. "So we'd better hope to find something in the next few weeks, otherwise we shall have to turn back before we run out completely and starve to death."

"Don't suppose we could catch any fish," Lucy said.

"Maybe with deep-sea tack," I replied, "But I don't think the fish are going to swim fast enough to keep up with the wind in our sails."

Aemon stood up and held a hand up, shading his eyes from the sunlight playing across the waters. "I smell a storm," he said.

"Really?" Lucy asked. Eustace snorted.

"Aye," Aemon said.

"Does it smell something like an uneasy wind, static air, and a splash of rain and fish?" I asked.

"Indeed," Aemon gave me another one of his rare smiles. "But with any luck it will hit while we're grounded."

…

No such storm occurred, though Aemon repeated—over several different occasions throughout the week—that he could smell it. I did not doubt him. He may not have been a seaman, but he lived on the coast of Narnia for a good half of his life, and he knew a thing or too. I remembered something about a storm from the book, but no details. Oh well, the islands held the real danger—right?

After a bit of sight seeing, walking merrily over the island without fear of slave traders, we descended the mountain and returned to the busy beach. Edmund offered to help cart supplies onto the Dawn Treader. Lucy asked specifically if she could work with Tusk. Blushing like a grandfather, Tusk nodded and agreed and gave her all of my 'feminine' tasks (down, sexism! Down!), while Aemon and I agreed to share his.

With six crescents chiming merrily together in my pocket, we set to work providing food for the workers, cooking out over pits in the sand like a regular bonfire dinner. We made spits of driftwood and borrowed cauldrons, killing chickens and roasting them. Aemon broke a chicken's neck right in front of me, and I managed to cross over the crest of a grassy dune before falling over and gagging. Lord have mercy, I'm so glad I wasn't born a chicken.

That night, there was a great feast on the sands of Doorn, several yards out of Narrowhaven so that we looked across a wider bay, towards Avra, and into the northeastern sea beyond. When night fell, the sky tumbled into hues of yellow and orange sherbet, with a carpet of midnight stars glistening on the edges, waiting to cut in for the slow dance. The wind was crisp, the air was warm, and the sand was cool lavender in the falling light. The waves gave the night rhythm and peace, everyone had worked hard and ate their fill, and work ceased for the evening. Flanagan brought out a lute, Robin sang an original composition about a fair maiden (inspired of course by a certain someone in Redhaven), and at least a hundred folk from the village danced.

And so this went on, one day blending into the next. Preparing the ship, cooking out on the open sands, watching the night transform the bright blue and golden days. By the end of the week I had nearly twelve crescents from Aemon's poor betting. I lost six to Ave, who is considerably smarter with gambling. At one point, Klaire asked me to dance. I won't deny I harbored a bit of a crush on him, albeit just while we danced in the firelight, in a big circle with twenty or so others. Everyone was whooping and singing, the pipe was playing loudly, and someone played a drumbeat against an empty barrel with leftover sail patches stretched and nailed over the top.

Lucy and I started receiving little parcels of new clothes in our rooms, which I'll admit, we gushed over like preteens in a cheap mall. There were clothes preparing us for cold weather and fair weather, leather jackets to protect us from rains and boots that were just my size. We did not wear any of them yet, we thought we'd save them for the voyage. Instead we worked at carrying them down to our cabins, trying to do the lifting ourselves rather than let the men do it for us. They were busy enough, and we weren't exactly made of jello, either.

"You know," Lucy said one evening, "I don't really feel like a Queen anymore."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"I just feel like the old me. Lucy. From England, on an adventure, in a magical place. We're not on Narnian shores, after all. I am much younger than I was in Our Time. I was a young adult then, you know—I had to make difficult decisions, rulings, settle peace between Talking Animals—even go to war. I led Narnians to the aid of Archenland, you know."

"Against Calormen?" I specified.

"Yes! You know I became even better at archery than Susan. No one beat me. Ever." Lucy sighed. "I don't think I can do it anymore. Reversing my life meant losing many things. I don't doubt that I still have talent, but anyone with a little talent could out shoot me."

"It must be hard for you," I said, sadly.

"It is hard, but it isn't unhappy," Lucy smiled softly. "If I had to start over and live my life and grow up all over again, I see mistakes before I make them. I am allowed to make new ones. I am learning twice as much. I have the _time _to be in Aslan's country, if we ever get there."

"We'll get there," I said positively.

"Is that a fact?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Spoilers…" I said, with a peaceful sigh. "I can honestly say I think we will see the edge of the world, but I can't remember what else will be there."

…

Two weeks flew by with pleasant haste. Every day was similar to the one before. A pleasant walk, hard work, good food, firelight dances, great feasts on the sand and in the castle, Caspian setting up government with the Lord Bern, a ripple of excitement throughout the entire Lone Islands. I heard whispers among the common people, saying, _The King is returned, and slavery abolished. This is the year that Aslan's spirit returned. _

Aslan will always turn a witch's winter into spring blossoms around a stone table.

…

It was nearly two and a half weeks before it was time to depart. Part of me knew I would be a little homesick for the small castle on the bluff overlooking the strait, where we spent the night aboard a slave ship. But returning to the Dawn Treader was sort of like going home now, a home we could take with us.

At dawn, when the sky was gray and land was only a shadow, the tide began to roll out and it was time to put at sea. The Dawn Treader was towed out to deep waters, and a very subdued crowd gathered, wishing we could stay.

"The Lone Islanders have undergone a great many changes this past fortnight," King Caspian addressed the crowd, standing on a small rock, putting himself barely a head above all the others. "I thank-you for your peace and understanding. I welcome you back to the Narnian family. Too long has it been since we could be so. Under my father, you paid tribute. Through me, we shall establish trade and friendship. Listen to your Duke, the Lord Bern. He is a man of far greater wisdom than I could ever hope to possess. I leave you in his most capable hands. I pray the years will bring you far less trial than you have seen in the days of greed and slavery. And Aslan willing, we will return to you from the eastern edge of the world. Aslan be with us all. Remember in these days that we serve each other—and in serving each other, there is contentment." Caspian paused, and nearly choked up a little. "Thank-you for opening your homes to us."

There was a brief pause, and the crowd applauded. The applause grew into a raucous cheer, and hankies were pulled out and waved. When we boarded the ship, we could still see their shapes on the beach and in Narrowhaven, and they were waving long after they began speckles on the grains of sand.

The sail was moving slowly, like a reed at a pond side. Then a wind swelled up her purple fabric, and Caspian blew a solitary note on his horn.

The ship was on her voyage once again.

…

Three days passed, each more beautiful than the last. Sunlight, fair winds, cheery waters of the deepest turquoise, games of chess, jolly meals specially prepared by Tusk, Aemon, and myself. Lucy and I finally broke out our new shoes and pants, but saved the coats for foul weather.

On the second day, I spent nearly two hours peeling potatoes, sitting alone at one of the tables, singing softly to myself.

Aemon sat across from me, with a grunt.

"What's eating you?" I asked, glancing up briefly.

"I feel sort of sick," he said.

"Oh?" I asked. "Coming down with the flu again?"

"No, like something is going to happen." Aemon looked at me, and his eyes were far more vulnerable than I expected. "Something ill is brewing."

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say. "Sometimes we can only wait for trouble and take it as it comes."

Aemon shook his head and left the galley without another word.

…

I went out to feed the chickens when I noticed the sky. The sky was turning a sickly hue of pasty slate. The ocean looked like gray mud with hints of pea soup. The snowy wave caps were splashing higher than usual. Where the sun ought to have been, the clouds had a hole ripped through it, and they began to bleed in yellow and rain. The sail moved uneasily from limp, to full, then pushing one way, then another.

"All hands on deck!" screamed Drinian, and the ship came to life, just as a distant thunder clap began in the east, and slowly rolled across the sky towards us. The final rumble occurred just overhead, so loudly that I ducked out of the way and held a hand to my good ear.

Random fact eight hundred and eighty-eight, I am partly deaf in my left ear.

Random fact seven hundred and twenty, I love thunder.

New fact: I don't like thunder like this.

The rain began to pour overhead, and the sun dipped behind the horizon, not to return till dawn. Darkness enveloped the ship, and the waves grew higher and higher.

…

I went inside the galley. "I need you to secure all the pans and ware," Tusk said to Aemon and I. "Put the fires out, and try to save the chickens if you can. Good luck."

I felt a shiver run through me as I watched Tusk disappear through the door, and out onto deck in the green rainfall. "Where is he going?" I asked nervously.

"Going below to await injured men," Aemon said, tossing a pan of dirty water over the fire. Smoke began to fill the galley. The wind moaned so shrilly outside, it was like a cheap special effect from a haunted house. I admit, it gave me a fright.

I coughed. "I guess we shan't make supper tonight for the men."

"They'll take shifts, and eat a potato and drink some water," Aemon said, handing me a small key.

I unlatched one of the chests, and began to place pots and spoons and the like inside of it. "He's just our apothecary tonight," I said fearfully, slamming it shut and locking it. I handed the key back to Aemon. "I'll try and get the chickens."

Aemon grabbed my elbow. "Don't get washed overboard."

I nodded, grabbing his hand. "You, too." We squeezed each other's hands like a pair of soldiers before a battle.

…

I ran out onto the deck, clinging to the wall. It seemed the moment I stepped out, the sea was cracked into two large pieces, and those pieces began to shatter against the ship. A huge wave washed over the rails, so large that when it hit, I was completely enclosed in a muted roar without sound, like the exact moment one is submerged when jumping into a pool. Luckily for me, I forgot to breathe.

When it washed over the other side, I gasped, soaking wet, clinging to the ladder for the poop deck. The cage beneath shelter was broken, and the chickens were already gone.

"I'm sorry, babies," I cried helplessly, thinking about those poor, faithful little creatures. At least they wouldn't drown. Chickens would have a heart attack before even knowing they were wet.

"Get below, madam!" I heard Drinian shout. Lucy was being thrown from side to side, sliding across the wood, making her way back to our cabin. She grasped a rope just as a second wave hit, and this time I held my breath, prepared. When the water parted, we could see each other across the deck.

She waved, and motioned me forward. I had nothing to do but wave back, and give her a smile of good luck. I wanted to stay in the kitchen and help Aemon.

Suddenly, the entire blotchy horizon seemed to be flipped sideways. A few of the ropes snapped, and the sail bellowed and stretched tautly, filling with a wicked wind and then flapping the opposite direction. There was a huge tear down the middle. We were being pushed in the opposite direction, almost as if we were caught in a whirlpool.

Lucy clung to the wall. "Pippin!" she called. "All right?"

"All right," I returned, and she ducked inside the cabins, latching the door firmly behind her. I looked about, but I did not spot Edmund. All the sailors seemed to look alike now, both the night crawlers and the day crew, all clinging, running, trying to close down hatches and tie down ropes. Most of them were working at the sail, trying to bring her down and roll her up, before the wind pushed us entirely off course.

Suddenly the entire ship veered on its side, the deck listing like a steep, slick cliff. I lost my grip on the slippery wood, fell hard onto my side, and began to careen downwards on the slope of the deck. It occurred to me that I might die, if I couldn't catch a hold of something, I could fall against the railing, and topple right over the edge—

I went pasted the open galley door and caught onto the doorframe. Aemon grabbed the back of my shirt and my arm, and jerked me painfully into the kitchen and onto the floor. The floor was still leaning, and we rolled harmlessly against the far wall beside the chest that rattled with all the dishes inside.

I coughed up a mouthful of seawater that I didn't know I had even swallowed. It made my throat burn. Aemon was still grasping a fistful of the back of my shirt, as if he were holding on for dear life.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "I've got you."

"The chickens are swept overboard," I said, my eyes stinging.

"But you're not," Aemon said harshly, finally letting go of my shirt. He brushed my soggy hair out of my face. "It's all right."

"I know," I said, trying to quell my rising panic. "Wait—no—I mean, thank-you."

Aemon took a deep breath, reached over, and brushed my hair aside again. "Aslan almighty," he muttered. "Try not to leave the galley again, for as long as we're in this."

"Okay."

The floor rolled steeply in the other direction. We caught the edges of the tables before we fell, holding onto the benches, tucking our legs in and sitting at them like we were waiting for dinner.

"What do we do now?" I asked, coughing again.

"We wait for the sailors to come in, for water and a bite," Aemon said, his breathing far too fast. He put a hand to his chest, calming himself. "Phew," he sighed, slowly. "I really thought you were going to go overboard."

"For a minute, I did too."

We both were distracted by the change of direction again. The wooden ship groaned and creaked under the strain. There were more commands and shouts from the deck, and another wave crashed over. A heavy portion of the water flooded into the kitchen.

"We shouldn't shut the door, should we?" I asked.

"No," Aemon said, detaching himself from the table and stepping carefully towards the door. As the floor lilted from left to right, he balanced with it, arms outstretched. He finally reached the doorway and held onto the wall. "We need to keep this open for the sailors to escape to. They could try and get to us for food and water, bounce right off the closed door, and find themselves twenty feet under and drowning with no hope of rescue."

I began to shiver. I forgot how cold and stiff one feels after getting blindsided by the ocean. "I'll find the potatoes." I began to walk crookedly towards the cupboards, where the freshly peeled ones had been roasting quietly in a pot over the fire that we had to put out.

A crash resounded outside. A crash that sounded like splinters and lightening and screams. Thunder tumbled out of the sky and landed on the ship as if it was a drumbeat that summoned our deaths. It was so loud I had to cover my ears again.

"That's the hold," Aemon hollered.

A shadowy figure fell into the galley with a gasp. "Hey," Robin said. "The pump?"

Aemon was already handing it to him. "Good luck."

"You too," Robin disappeared into the darkness of the door again. A brief glimmer of lightening lit up his figure as he exited through the forecastle door, going down the hold, where he'd pump water out where there was a leak.

Suddenly, Geoff was plunging through the door, dragging a very small, shivering creature in with him. "Where's Tusk?" he demanded.

"Below," Aemon said. "What's wrong?"

The wet, dark man looked up and blinked in our limited lantern light. "Broke me arm," Baron said in a husky voice, holding the limb to his chest. "Fell right off the poop deck. Right off."

"Where's Bastian?" Aemon asked.

Baron snorted painfully. "That old coot was told to watch the supplies. Like we don't know what THAT means—too old, faugh…"

"We had to separate them, just this once," Geoff whispered to Aemon. "We don't want to lose our senior members…"

"Senior? Senior?" Baron cried indignantly. "If I had both my arms…"

Aemon and I hastened to lift the trapdoor. "Go down this way, into the keel," Aemon instructed. "You shouldn't run into Robin's little flood problem. Tusk is down there with all the medical supplies."

Poor Baron gave a deep-throated curse, trying not to use his arm as he descended the ladder.

"All right down there?" Geoff called.

"Got 'im," came Tusk's voice.

Geoff slapped Aemon's shoulder as I dropped the trapdoor shut. "Thanks, mate," he said gratefully. "Holding it together, Pippin?"

"As well as I can," I responded.

Geoff tipped his nonexistent hat and went back out into the lashing night.

…

For the next several hours, it was the same. Every few moments, someone popped in, asked for a bit to eat or a sip, and went back out into the night. Olan came in with a five inch splinter of wood sticking out of his shoulder. Tusk plucked it out, slapped something on it to stop the bleeding, and sent him out again. Aemon went out a few times whenever there was a cry. By the end of the first night, he had successfully saved three lives from perishing in the torrential waters—mine, Rynelf's, and Ave.

On the second day, the storm did not abate. It was peculiar to feel such panic with the sky was lit in a sort of backhanded gray with white piercing through. The water was putrid green, the rain fell clear, and the wind was faster and colder than ever before. Lightening and thunder flashed and roared, and the pump worked all the faster, and the injured men came all the oftener. I don't remember eating or drinking very much, only I managed to make my way across the deck to my cabin, where I was able to use the chamber pot and check on Lucy. Eustace was hiding in his cabin below and refused Lucy's summons for company, offering to even try and play a _game _with him to distract him from the storm. He would have none of it. Little twerp.

I returned to the galley, intending on making both Lucy and Eustace something to eat. I would hate for them to starve to death just because we were focused on feeding the sailors at small intervals.

…

I woke up in the creaking, cramped, dark hold. I was on the floor, with detached hammock tucked over me. It was cold, but it was the warmest I'd felt in twenty-four hours.

Then I yawned. "I don't even remember coming down here. Should I take over the galley for Aemon and let him come down for a nap?"

Tusk was huddled at the far end, giving Baron's broken arm a critical glance, smiling, and patting the old man's shoulder. Then he turned and looked at me, with a bemused glance. "What do you think you're doing down here?" he said.

"Napping?" I said, confusedly.

"Why didn't you just nap in your cabin?" Tusk asked.

"Uh oh, did I do something wrong?" I said, with a gasp.

"No, no," Tusk laughed. "Only got knocked completely unconscious when one of the barrels broke loose and nearly clobbered you right off the deck."

"What…" I drawled. "What?! I don't—remember that." I looked around crazily. "I don't _feel _like I've been hit in the head and knocked unconscious."

"Just give it a minute."

"Okay, so then what happened? I didn't fall off the deck, obviously," I said, with a shudder. "I'd be drowned, otherwise."

"Orpheus caught you. Grabbed your ankles and literally dragged you up to the galley, tossed you inside, and said 'Oi! You're girl was headed for the fishes'! Aemon was _much _more careful bringing you down here."

I burst into laughter—and then I felt it. The pounding headache. Not unlike the kinds from staring at the sun for too long while sitting in a hot car on the way to California and then your mom opens a package of those disgusting Fig Newton things and refuses to open the windows and let that fruity-tar smell dissipate. Or maybe that's just me.

"Ouch," I said, putting a hand to the tender bruise somewhere under my hair.

"Mhm, there it is," Tusk handed me a sopping wet clothe to hold against the part that hurt the most. As soon as the pain was focused in my head, I was able to calculate where else I felt sore or hurt. There would be plenty of bruises elsewhere. My throat hurt with the burn of saltwater, my limbs felt heavy, and both knees were skinned but already scabbing up. My ankles looked marvelous.

…

Tusk made me stay down there for another hour or more. I kept rolling against the wall and bashing into it, so I finally convinced him that it'd do me more harm then good if I stayed any longer. I returned to the galley, and silently helped Aemon parcel out dried strips of meat for the sailors to eat when they could.

Then the dark day turned into a black night. The lightening crackled, flashed, and flames danced against the tip of the mast before the rain pounded it out. The sail was almost shredded now, and even the wind could not fill her up and push her off course.

Pan stumbled into the galley, ashen-faced and one arm hanging limply.

"You all right?" I asked.

"Here," Pan set held out his crooked-looking arm. "Hold that."

I grasped his wrist carefully. "Okay…?"

"Oh, I got this," Aemon stepped over, wrapped his arms around Pan's shoulders as if he was trying to hug him. "Don't let go of his wrist," he said.

"Okay…?" I repeated.

Aemon suddenly squeezed, giving Pan a very _tight _hug. There was a painful pop sound, and Pan's wrist twitched, and he let out an unhappy groan. Then Aemon stepped back, Pan withdrew his hand, and waltzed back outside like nothing happened.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Dislocated shoulder," Aemon explained. "Just had to put it back for him. No need to bother Tusk."

"It's the helm, and the tiller," Pan's voice suddenly carried inside. "One isn't enough. Too strong."

Aemon slipped out for a moment, and came back quickly. "They've got three men at the helm now, and four at the tiller," he said, in a relieved tone. "Hopefully that will be enough to keep it from spinning out of control. They'll take shifts. I'll probably go up and help in a few minutes."

"Don't get washed overboard," I said.

"You, too," Aemon replied. He busied himself with a few things, and then exited without a goodbye.

…

More and more, then men came in for some food. There was almost nothing they could do anymore except wait out the storm. Three or four men were at the helm, two or three were helping Robin pump water out of the hold, and the others scurried around, trying to catch broken ropes or supplies before they were washed away. Drinian, Caspian, and Edmund worked at the tiller, as they knew direction better than anyone. They did their best to steer us out of the way of the worst waves, the ones that seemed to tower over twenty-five feet high. Those were the ones that could wipe us all out. I tried not to think about it.

The rain never stopped. Eventually the thunder and lightening ceased for several hours, but the waves kept crashing and the sea kept opening—deeper and deeper—until the ship was thrust down into their depths, over and over, cresting another wave, and then plunged downwards again. The floor was always at an angle. The lanterns were always swinging. There was always someone bleeding.

…

_Day 3 of the Storm_

_It seems so eternal, so I decided to risk crossing the deck to get to my sketchbook. If we die, we die. _

_This has been an account of the strange adventures of Pippin. Love to any who reads this. xoxo_

_Day 4_

_This is Lucy Pevensie. I know Pippin won't mind my borrowing a slip of paper. I'd say it is out of boredom, but it is more out of fear that I, too, am writing during this storm. It is the same, I can hardly remember what it is like to have a spot of sunshine and a sweet-scented breeze. Listening to the cries and the shouts on deck, to the creakings and groanings in the wooden walls, it is frightening. I shall presently see to Eustace, and give him some of the food that Pippin left for us. He is being very quiet, and I do worry a little for him. Edmund I have not seen these past three days, but Pippin told me she saw him at the helm just a moment ago, and so my worry for him is at bay for now. Aslan be with us all._

…

At the end of our week—it hardly seemed a week, everything felt endless—the mast was finally struck by lightening. It did not light up in flames, but rather split down the middle into two pieces, and then they fell against the deck, crashing and bringing the sail, the ropes, and Klaire out of the crow's nest. He was luckily enough to not be struck by lightening directly, save a good painful zap, since the crows nest was on the second pole (not the main mast where the sail hung). But he did fall hard, and came in with a very broken nose and blood pouring from it. Aemon stuffed two small rags in either nostril and told him he'd have a nose to remember. Klaire gave us a red-smeared grin and said he couldn't agree more.

…

When we lost the mast, it meant twice as much work as before. They worked now to coil up the ropes and stuff them down in the deck, so that they wouldn't be washed away and we could make repairs. Chunks of the mast kept breaking loose, falling onto people's heads and knocking them onto their knees. Those had to be tossed overboard before they killed anyone. The sail was gathered in pieces. Barrels rolled off the deck and plunged into the sea. Herring actually fell _off _the ship, clung to a rope, and when the ship leaned the other way, jumped back onto the deck without a scratch.

"Some of the lads are coming up from the pump," Aemon said. "Will you have some of the dried food ready for them?"

"Yeah," I said, pulling out the dried peach chunks and the ham strips. Clutching them in their paper wrappings so they wouldn't fall off the table and slide away, I walked sideways towards the door and peered out.

In the heavy rain and smoke, three figures were headed for the door. Robin, Teeth, and Thornton. Teeth looked considerably relaxed, but then I remembered that the sounds were the most alarming part of this whole storm—and being deaf, Teeth was only bothered by what he saw, not by what he heard. Thornton had a strong hand on his shoulder, ready to push him out of harm's way if something fell.

A huge wave suddenly washed up, spilling through the railing, rising higher and higher, till the whole deck was flood and two or three feet was pouring into the kitchen, rising up to our knees and smacking against the far wall. The figures on deck were darker now. Then the lightening retuned, flickering like a faulty light bulb. Thornton and Teeth pushed through the door, two of the three.

Robin's shadow disappeared over the railing, his hand reaching for nothing.

…

"ROBIN!" I screamed, slipping out of the door, clinging to the ladder. The ship leaned the opposite way, bringing us almost parallel to the water's surface. I was looking down into the icy waters. There was nothing and no one. Robin was invisible to my eyes.

I fell back into the galley. Teeth was making incoherent noises, trying to communicate. Thornton was gasping for breath. "Where'd he go? Where'd he go?" he panted, looking at me.

"He fell over," I said hoarsely.

"No!" Aemon shouted, going out the door. He slipped downwards, grabbing onto the railing, leaning dangerously far over. I watched him through the galley door.

"Man—man overboard!" Aemon choked out. He cleared his throat and screamed louder. "MAN OVERBOARD!" Suddenly, one leg was over the railing. He was going to jump in.

"Don't!" Edmund's voice shouted. Edmund was there, grabbing Aemon by the arm, pulling him back. "Don't do it," he bawled over the explosion of thunder overhead. "You can't save him." He pulled him back roughly, and then Drinian joined him, and the two of them shoved him back towards the galley.

Then they were all gone in a wall of water, but only for a moment. When it cleared, they were all still there, shaking like leaves.

Edmund was looking over the railing. "I see him," he called to Drinian, somberly.

"Dead or struggling?" Drinian asked stiffly.

"He's dead."

"Are you certain?"

Edmund whispered something, and their voices were lost.

"What?" Aemon growled. "What?!"

"He must have hit something else," Edmund came sliding towards us. He glanced at Thornton and Teeth, who were shivering simultaneously, waiting for the verdict. "Uh—he wasn't…" he hesitated. "He was all in pieces," he said finally. "Broken neck. Already too far away for a line."

Aemon sat heavily against the floor.

"I'm sorry," Edmund said. Drinian and he nodded to each other, and went back out again.

"If I grabbed 'im," Thornton whispered to himself. "He could go back and marry that Redhaven girl."

"It's not your fault," I slowly pushed over the peaches and meat. "It's… it's not."

"Not hungry anymore," Thornton passed the food to Teeth, and made a motion for him to eat all of it. Teeth wiped his tears away and began to munch slowly.

"Aemon?" I said, turning and kneeling beside him.

"I didn't think anyone was going to die, not on this voyage. Not in a matter of days." Aemon literally sobbed, his shoulders convulsing and his face in his hands.

The floor tilted, and Aemon calmed long enough to move back and catch the wall with his hands, managing to not get thrown unceremoniously across the room.

Caspian entered the galley. He had a clotted scab across his forehead, and his hair and shirt were plastered to him with saltwater. He was pale and had never looked worse.

"Yer Majesty," Thornton said sorrowfully, and Teeth gave a clumsy nod.

"The Captain informed me that Robin is gone," Caspian said, formally.

"Aye," Thornton whispered.

Caspian stumbled to Aemon's side, and sat beside him. "Edmund told me you were going to try and save what could not be saved," he said quietly, for Aemon's ears only. I backed away to try and give them some privacy. "It was nobly thought of. Aslan shines his face upon you tonight." He grasped Aemon's shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he said softly, "Shhh. It's okay." He looked up at me. "Pippin?"

"Yeah?" I said.

"Stay with Aemon," he said, his voice thick. "I have to go back to the tiller."

"Yes, sire," I agreed, lowering myself back onto the floor. Caspian gave Aemon one last pat of comfort on the back, and stood. "Thornton, Teeth," he said respectfully, "Take your time. Come back to the pump when you're ready. Persus, Midge, and Geoff have it right now."

"Yes, sire."

"We're going to get through this," Caspian said encouragingly, and the rain and wind swallowed him up.

The ship veered dangerously to the right, and Aemon fell towards me, his head against my shoulder. When the ship righted itself again, he did not bother to move it. I sighed and put an arm around him, holding him like someone would hold a child waking up from a nightmare. I don't care whether or not this was a Mary-Sue move to make. Aemon didn't seem to give a crap about Mary-Sues, and neither did I. My new friend was hurting and I wanted to put a tangible comfort around him, hold him together, keep him from breaking to a point of being unbreakable. If there was one thing I was good at—college taught me this—guy friends would never ask for someone to hold them if they were crying too hard to focus on anything around them. They wouldn't ask, but they wouldn't mind. And instinct seemed to say that Aemon needed someone right now, and it might as well be me.

When sailors came in for their meals, they would spot our dark blotches against the wall. "What happened?" they'd whisper, as quietly as they could, since we practically had to shout over the wind anyhow.

"Robin is dead," I'd reply, with a shuddering breath. And then they'd suck in a breath of shock, whispering it to the others. Some punched the wall or the table top before exiting again. Some cursed.

Persus, the rude and crude one, had the most surprising reaction of all. He approached us, reached down, and put his hand on top of Aemon's head. "There, there, lad," he said stiffly. "Ain't your fault."

Then his own tears threatened to surface, and he cursed very loudly, and left the galley as quickly as he could.

…

When Aemon was all cried out, he stood up abruptly, and began to move limply about the room, righting things that had fallen and moving things around that didn't need to be moved. I began to follow him and put things back where they needed to be. Eventually people began to come in with bloodied arms, rope burns, missing teeth or black eyes, and Aemon would stop and help them, or send them down to Tusk when injury demanded. His words of greeting were hollow, but his actions were deliberate.

…

Seven days of hard rain, everlasting wind, brutality in the air. Panic and fear quenched us all as much as the hard waters and slapping waves. Everything and everyone seemed broken, subdued. We did not lose any men overboard. Eustace was forced to come out of his hole and work at the pump. Drinian demanded that Lucy stay in, even though she wanted to help Tusk down below with her healing cordial.

"You're our Queen first, our helper second," Drinian said compassionately. "And we'd rather keep you safe than working."

Lucy wasn't happy about this at all, but she respected the Captain's wishes.

…

Eternity is made of the howls and the whistles of the wind. Night and day bled and ran together, in patches of mild light and the blackest of darkness. It seemed like no one slept or ate, in those last few days. Time and safety were complete jokes, lies spun by those outside the storm that had never seen a rain drop or a broken mast.

Everything clattered, boomed, and shook under thunderclaps that ripped the sky open again and again. Someone would call for Robin, and then remember, and fall silent.

…

On the twelfth day, I woke up in the hold again. This time, I had actually gone down there purposefully—I wasn't dragged in by my ankles—to help Tusk make bandages for various cuts and abrasions. The ship's rocking had lessened a bit, and I was able to fall asleep for an hour or so. The thumps over head grew less, and the wind coming through the chinks didn't sound like screams anymore.

When I went above deck, everything was messy, sitting wherever the water had dragged them. Tripping over a crate or two, I looked out of the doorway. The rain had stopped, and the sky was light gray. Despite everything looking like shredded pieces of junk, daylight was peaking through the thin clouds without sunshine. Thunder rumbled, miles and miles away from us.

The storm had finally dissipated, we began to filter out of our holes and our workplaces. They informed us the water was mostly pumped out of the hold, and the tiller and helm no longer needed more than one man.

Zacharius and Caspian were whispering.

"Would you say a few words?" I heard Caspian saying quietly.

Zacharius stood up, and began to thank Aslan for our safety and deliverance from the storm. Then he said a prayer for Robin, reminding us all that he would be in Aslan's country now. "Perhaps he will even be just on the edge, greeting us, should we reach our goal," he said, with a grim smile.

"We'll never forget his bravery, or his goodness," Reepicheep chimed in.

Zacharius nodded, wiping his own eyes. "He is far more blessed than any of us could hope to be in our mortal forms. Aslan is with him."

...

* * *

...

**Next time: The sea at it's most extreme—a twelve day storm, followed by a four day calm. The water runs short, and a mountain looms on the horizon. And they say there may be dragons.**

**...**

* * *

**funny story: **So this one time a friend of ours surprised us at school. He's like 'hey everybody!' and all the guys surrounded him, practically tackling him to give him a hug of 10+ people. Then, we heard a weird pop sound. Everyone pulls back, and our poor friend is standing there, his face turning green, looking like he's about to pass out. 'What just happened?!' I said, and he goes, 'they just dislocated MY SHOULDER.' he grabs the biggest guy there, goes, 'HUG ME REALLY HARD.' so my other friend grabs him, gives him a big hug, squeezes, and then we hear another pop. The color returns to my friends face, he smiles, and goes, 'there we go. he fixed it.' and I just had to stick that story in here, because it was slightly humorous in the darkness of the chapter. =) TRUE STORY.

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**Reviewer Replies**

**TheSnake'sLioness**: Ahaha, I would, except storms are NO time for madness! Perhaps next time they shall loosen up a little.

**Guest: **I've thought about fiffing into Lord of the Rings or the Hobbit, but that series is QUITE a bit of work, due to the length of it and my work on the Narnia one. I won't say no, though. My favorite Narnia book(s) are the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, The Horse and His Boy, and the Last Battle.

**Softballgirl: **Thank-you! Hope you enjoyed.

**FairyPirate: **Yes, I am not alone in my shortness! Hobbits unite!

**TidyBits: **Yes indeed! The Horse and His Boy is very cinematic, and anyone who doesn't think it CAN be made into a movie has not read it properly. It has two storylines of a girl and boy hero from different lives, a little romance (though at first they hate each other), a great intersection of the enemies' city and our heroes in disguise, chases, and a final battle and a revealed secret. It's literally brilliant. I hope it's made into a film someday! And thank-you for your kind words!

**Guest 2 (the one who proposed): **Yes I shall marry you, but if only you would reveal who you are!

**Silimaira: **Haha well it's a little late, but feel free to send in typos in your reviews if you like. No guarantee I can go back and change them (since it's sort of a miracle when I have time to write at all) but if I DO have the chance it will come in handy.

**Colbub: **Haha, I love that you keep shipping. Don't stop and tell me who you're rooting for this week, haha. Also, Eustace becomes much nicer right after his dragon situation, in the three chapters "The Storm and What Came of it", "The Adventure's of Eustace" and "How the Adventure Ended" which make up a good middle-portion of the book. So it shall be sooner than you think! =)


	16. Under the Dragon's Skin

**Dear Readers,**

**Thank-you so much for all your reviews. It really makes my heart swell up like a big red balloon. Metaphorically, of course. **

**Pippin**

* * *

…

…

**Strange Things Happen**

…

…

* * *

Chapter 16

Under the Dragon's Skin

Molten gold seemed to pour out over our heads, burning our scalps and setting the boat adrift in a windless sea. The ocean was a glass plane, flat and sparkling blue, with not even a speck of current to help us where the air could not.

We were becalmed, again. Though after such a behemoth storm, it was hard for us to hate it. But after two days of almost absolute silence, clean-up, and no progress whatsoever, it began to be worrisome. The water was running low, make-shift mast broke off every few hours, and the wretched sun glared off every surface, giving everyone and their mother a headache to end all headaches.

Robin was quietly mourned, but I couldn't help but be surprised with the speed at which he seemed to be forgotten. The grief did not settle over the ship like a second storm as I thought it would. It rather skimmed over us, hit everyone across the head as it flowed by, and then dropped off the tail of the ship. It went below the surface, and the crew simply picked themselves up and moved on.

I hadn't spoken to Caspian, almost since before we'd been captured and sold as slaves, which felt like hundreds of years ago. When I did finally have a word with him, it was but a few.

"Is there something I can do?" I asked him.

"About what?" he replied, kindly.

"Um… you know. Robin. It all happened so suddenly, and we prayed for him, but…"

Caspian grimaced. "That is, literally, all that _can _be done for him."

"We mustn't forget the woman he fell in love with at Redhaven."

"She will be informed," Caspian said, "Whenever… whenever we return. It may be months. But she will be told."

"There has to be something else that needs doing."

"Pippin," Caspian said tiredly, "Men die at sea, and that's a fact. We were blessed to have not lost _most _of our crew these past weeks. We have to carry on as usual."

"I understand that," I said firmly.

"I'm not sure you do," Caspian replied, with equal sternness. "Robin came aboard with full knowledge of the dangers. You did, too."

"I know."

"The truth is, no one is forgettable. No one is expendable. But no one is more important than the others who live and are still working on board."

"That's not what I meant," I sighed with frustration. "It just doesn't seem fair to Robin, that's all."

"I know you and Aemon were particularly fond of him," Caspian gave me a brotherly look. "I can't pretend to understand what your hearts are going through personally, but believe me, I _do _understand loss."

_Character death seemed much less important in older books_, I thought with some vehemence. _Nowadays we've got Snape and Rue scenes to live up to. ALL THE FEELS. _

"Thank-you, Sire," I said, not really meaning it. For the first time, I felt like Caspian was being very thick. He could at least attempt to hear me out, though I did not want to bother him any more than necessary.

But, of course, I came from a world where first you had an announcement, an obituary, a funeral, followed by a memorial service, and then yearly dinners remembering the person who passed, and people writing on their facebook walls long after the person had gone, wishing them well in the afterlife. There was even sending letters to Heaven on balloons when you were a kid! My culture demands that you move on as slowly and painfully as possible.

Maybe Narnians just knew better?

Perhaps I was wrong in assuming our friendship was close enough, to share feelings like that. For him, at least—I never had any problem sharing my feelings the second they occurred, but even nowadays, that seems to grow harder and harder.

There was no one to consult on this matter but Aslan, and I'd never known a Lion's presence to be so absent or silent.

…

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_I'm afraid we've gotten to a place where water has to be rationed and everyone takes turns rowing. I don't mind having rationed water, but after rowing, I could drink up Crater Lake. No one is feeling okay, sort of feverish I guess. Everyone is moody, hot, and sweaty. I can't help but feel that the two extremes in weather is just a little unfair, but maybe that's just me. A storm and a wind-drought are terribly ugly things. _

_Eustace tried stealing water and Reepicheep caught him. Caspian said the next person found stealing water would receive 2 dozen lashes as punishment. You know, classic Master and Commander sort of thing—tie 'em to the mast and whip them. With a whip. Okay, it's my turn to row. Let's hope I don't throw up again._

…

The wind returned in a pathetic sort of way.

In the story of the prodigal son, the son returns to his father's house, poor and dirty and starving, and his father meets him and grants him forgiveness and throws a huge party to celebrate his return. The wind came back, and while we would all be like the father and throw a party and celebrate—imagine if the son had returned, shuffling, texting on his iphone, and said, 'So, dad, I'm back, and like, whatever. Got any food?'

This wind shuffled along lazily, expected our ecstasy, and could barely summon the strength to push us any faster that .5 miles an hour. The sail flapped tiredly against the makeshift mast, sometimes entirely still, sometimes moving in and out in slow motion.

We still had the same problem as before: water shortage, and not enough progress.

And yet the wind did show up, but with a very disappointing turn out.

…

I stepped out of the cabin and caught Lucy sneaking down to the boy's cabins with a full cup of water.

"Lucy?" I said, feeling like I caught a toddler with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Mhm…?" Lucy replied, glancing around as if her script had gotten lost.

"Isn't that your water?"

"Um, yes," Lucy looked down into the glass, "Yes, I _believe_ it is."

"Isn't that the one Captain Drinian just gave you?"

"I believe so."

Silence.

"So," I giggled, "What are you doing?"

"Loaning it?" Lucy offered.

"Your Highness!" I gasped. "You're not giving it to your COUSIN, are you?"

"He's thirsty!" protested Lucy, forgetting about the lie she was probably concocting. "The poor boy is miserable and so, so unhappy!"

"Your _Highness!_" I exclaimed again, "You can't dehydrate yourself for your cousin—the—the—water thief!"

"I'm not as thirsty as he is," Lucy tried to explain herself. "So—I may—have told him—that girls just don't get as thirsty as boys."

I glared at her. "This will do you NO good."

"It's poor old Eustace," Lucy pleaded.

"You mean poor Useless," I said harshly. "I'd rather have Queen Lucy fully hydrated and let the boy feel his fever for a day or… three."

"But, you are biased, because I was a Queen."

"No, I'm biased, because you are wonderful, and Eustace is not."

"But if I am to retain any sort of wonderful-ness, I can at least tend to a sad, albeit selfish, subject."

"Fine, do what you want," I said stubbornly. "But you know he won't learn his lesson by getting free water. Especially if he doesn't know he's your subject."

"Then how WILL he learn his lesson?" Lucy asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

I tapped my nose secretively. "Not with water, but with fire!"

"What do you mean?"

"Eek!" I shrieked. "Spoilers! Do what you want, Lucy! I've got to row, all right?"

"All right…? Good luck."

…

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_I caught Lucy sneaking away her own water ration to Eustace, who has done nothing to help us. BAD IDEA! And I know you're reading this, Lucy!_

_Dearest Pippin's book,_

_Sometimes our kindness will be paid off, in the friendships we shall see later in life. I hope my treatment of Eustace will reciprocate a lovely relationship in the future._

_Dear Lucy,_

_If I were in charge, I'd make Eustace boil his urine to drink. You know you can do that in emergencies, right?_

_Oh, PIPPIN! That's disgusting!_

_Lucy, seriously it's true. Survival 101. He could boil his urine and drink it and not bother us about water anymore and YOU could drink ALL of your ration and that would make everybody happy! Of course, except Eustace. For reasons. _

_Tell me, Pippin, did you throw up again when you rowed?_

_Funny you should ask, Lucy. _

_Well, did you? _

_Maybe. _

_You did. _

_I will neither confirm nor deny your accusations. _

_Pippin, everyone has their faults. Eustace is selfish. You throw up if you row for more than an hour. _

_Lucy, look what you've done! You've used up an entire page in my sketchbook!_

_Pippin, there's a sketch in here of a pile of comical kittens. And they're all named after the crew members and sporting a few of their discerning features. Should I show this to Aemon?_

_NO YOU MAY NOT._

…

Two days of small water rations, too much rowing, and limping wind.

I felt very bad for Persus, our one and only vulgar-humored fellow with a poor attitude. He came up from rowing one afternoon, and suddenly dropped onto deck like a dead thing. When Tusk finally revived him, he said that Persus was far too dehydrated and needed to be exempt from rowing duties until we replenished the supply. Midge teased him mercilessly about fainting like 'a lady', but Tusk at least knew better. Passing out isn't a sign of femininity or weakness, but a real medical concern. _Thank-you, mister apothecary! _

Come to find out, Persus had been giving his water ration to Teeth. Being mute, and Thornton was not sure how to communicate the word 'rations' to him, Persus just handed off his cup of water to Teeth to try and sooth the tension. It was uncommonly kind of him. For being the only fellow to ever make an inappropriate joke about Caspian and I, and to make plenty of other perverted comments to Midge (who thought he was hilarious of course), he had been showing _quite _a personality improvement lately. It wasn't so much that he stopped being sour-faced and cynical, but he was showing kindness and being generous, and this was new behavior for him.

I didn't know if it had anything to do with the storm, but, the storm did seem the likely reason for a change in lifestyle. It's the sort of dangerous event that causes a man to try and make a deal with God. And when a man lives through those events, if he upholds his end of the bargain, it shows. I couldn't remember—in the traumatizing hours of the storm—if I had tried to make any bargains, like,_ I swear, Aslan, if you let me live…_

I couldn't remember if I had or not. The memories were soaked and muddled.

I doubt he was holding me to anything anyway. He'd been awfully… quiet, lately.

…

_Land in sight!_

Forget 'I love you', those are the three little words every girl wants to hear, especially when becalmed. I rowed so much that I burst blood vessels all up and down my arms. The red bruises made Aemon think I was diseased.

"Are we putting into shore?" I asked Caspian excitedly.

Caspian stared quietly at the approaching mountain. A gull shrieked solemnly overhead. "No," he said, "We will wait. We won't be near the shore till tomorrow anyway, but we'll give it one more night. Just in case there are savages or wild beasts."

"Savages," I repeated, ready to be offended.

Caspian glanced at me. "Yes. Uncivilized peoples. Where do you think the Telmarines came from?"

"Pirates."

"Yes, and who isn't to say there aren't more in this region? Groups of peoples living without contact with the rest of the world? We cannot take chances with violence. We're a large crew, but we're not even close to the numbers of a small army."

_I can't be any worse than King Kong, _I thought, _Though I'm not in the mood for pirates…_

One of the seagulls landed on the prow of the ship, and squeaked ferociously. Tiny eyes blinking, it moved its head from side to side.

Down on the deck, Eustace suddenly waved his arm with a whiny "Shoo, animal! Shoo!" and with a squawk, the gull flapped its wings and dived away.

Caspian heaved a deep sigh and returned to his small deck-table, where he was working on a half finished map, penciling in the newly discovered island.

"There's nothing wrong with having a few animals on board," Pan said evenly.

"It would soil the deck," Eustace said, in a very small voice.

"Mhm," Pan muttered, squinting at Eustace as if seeing something but choosing to ignore what he found.

"We shouldn't make exceptions for beasts," Eustace tried to explain, but Pan had already disappeared down the hatch.

It took two days to put into shore, much longer than I thought it would. But it was not a miserable wait. We pulled into the bay, dropped anchor, and caught fish for dinner. Besides the fact that I hate fish, I was relieved for the food and ate it like it was peanut butter (which I love and could eat out of the jar with a spoon). We all had extra water rations. The men weren't concerned about not finding water on this new island, because the trees were so green and the mountain so misty that it was obvious there was some water source on it.

It wasn't exactly a celebration, but it was certainly close.

…

In the windy throes of the morning, we took two boatloads to the beach, which curved the bay in an inlet. The mountain, once you seemed to be pulled inside the natural harbor, seemed craggy and steep and not at all climbable. There were shuddering cedars everywhere, thick and showered in strips of mist. Waterfalls plunged with distant roars from their high places in the crags and cracks of the rocky mountainsides. Rivers flowed out of the thick trees, across little canyons in the sand, and out into the ocean waves. It was beautiful—but as Lewis put it—oppressive. There was something ghoulish about it, too enclosed for my taste, with the gray sky too thick. It felt like we'd stepped into the Oregon zoo—it had all the features of the Northwest, with the mist and waterfalls and the like, but the heat and the boxed, contrived atmosphere whispered _tropics… _which made me wonder, which animal was in _this _exhibit?

But it was land, which was the basis for my utter relief.

"Sand!" I squealed. "Beloved, beautiful, rough, course and irritating sand!" I fell into it, gripped handfuls of it, and enjoyed the grains sifting through my fingers in a ticklish, smooth stream of sparkling beige. I drew a smiley face, then a peace symbol, then wiped it away and tried drawing a caricature of Obama. Aemon's shadow fell across my sand sketches. I looked up with a grin, whereas he made a face of disgust, and moved on.

"There are plenty of rivers for bathing," Caspian announced. "Please don't stray far from the beach. Um—ladies to the left, men to the right."

I snorted with laughter in an unladylike fashion, but was glad for the suggestion. Lucy went first, and when she finished and put on clean clothes (we broke out our winter gear from the last markets) I went to a secluded, thickly shadowed embankment just past the beach and in the dim cedar forest. The river was so bloody cold that I may or may not have said curses that may or may not have been in French or some other foreign language. But I kept it short, and by the time I donned thick woolen leggings, stockings, boots, a plain cotton shirt, and a dark green cloak with a hood, the fires on the beach were already built.

Edmund, Lucy, and I began work on our shelter. Everyone, without ever really saying so, was responsible for building their own. Beside a large rock on the sands, we hollowed out a little area for us to sit, and planted two thick branches on either side. Then we stretched a blanket over them, tying the corners of the blanket to the branches and weighting it down on the rock with… well, more rocks. It was clumsily done but it provided a windbreaker.

"In just a moment we'll have something to eat," Caspian announced to the company, as everyone was getting settled. "And then have a bit of a rest. A few hours, perhaps. But firstly, we need to hunt and shoot for game—restock our dry meat supply. We must fill the water barrels. We need to find a tree—a pine, preferably—to fell and remast. We have clothing and rags to mend, and finally, the ship itself needs to be repitched in several places and the sail repaired. We'll try and do these things as quickly as possible—yet, I'd like to remind you all, we're not exactly in a hurry. We will call an early night tonight. We've… had a very difficult time. If you've a mind to multitask, repair your own clothes and outer wear while you rest. Keep your eyes on the trees for any potential enemies or a good pine sticking out of that forest."

We slept, we ate the bare minimum, and then we worked.

Lord, did we work.

I couldn't do much with cutting down a good tree, and I absolutely failed at doing the proper stitches to fix the mast, so I was put in charge of filling the barrels. So with a small bucket, I stumbled back and forth from the river to the barrels, filling up their dark insides with fresh, cold, mountain water. Rather than getting it from where it poured by the water's edge (you risk getting a lot of sand that way!) I had to walk into the forest a few yards, wade into the shallows a few feet, and fill the bucket by placing it in the current. After an hour or so of this, I was chilled to the bone and exceptionally unhappy.

I heard some of the men returning from hunting, crashing through the underbrush with their laughter. I saw their shapes in the distance between the thick trees, holding their kills. The best archers had gone, and they seemed to be bringing back wild goats. Maybe I could borrow one of them to help me with the water…

_Maybe Robin would—_

No, Robin wouldn't help me. I thought he had gone into the mountains with Pan, Rynelf, and Klaire to do the hunting, but I had forgotten too quickly.

The only thing that was left of Robin was some of the music he tried to write, which Flanagan tried to play with his flute, which was too hard for him to remember, so he resorted to whistling. Hearing the melody floating through the trees had almost made me forget that Robin was gone forever.

Klaire spotted me standing in the shallows, with the icy waters running around my shins and staring after them with, what I assume, was my most ghastly and glum face. He waved, spotted my expression, and then said something to the others. With a groan, Ave stepped in and threw the dead goat over his back. Klaire slapped him on the shoulder and trotted through the thick, fern laden underbrush.

"Hello," he said pleasantly, approaching the embankment. "What are you doing?"

"Hello," I said, gesturing down to my bucket. "I'm, uh, filling up the barrels. That's why I'm standing in the river. I usually don't just stand in rivers."

Just then, it began to pelt us with rain. Hard, cold rain.

"I suppose it's the cold that's bother—" suddenly Klaire stopped, cocking his head. He caught the strain of Flanagan whistling, the tremble of his notes betraying the emotion undermining the cheerful 'whistle while you work' routine.

"Oh," he said. "That."

I shrugged. "It's a lovely song."

Klaire nodded. "Indeed it is." Ducking under the close branches, he went tromping back to the beach. He returned quickly, swinging two of his own buckets, one in each hand. I chuckled at the sight of him—I required both hands to carry a single bucket.

From then on, we passed each other going back and forth for the next hour. We filled up the barrels with nothing but silence and an occasional smile.

By the time thunder began to rumble, we were finished, and I felt inclined to shake Klaire's hand for helping me while I thanked him. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze and shake, and said, "Oh, you're all right, Pip."

I fell asleep in our shelter, curled up by Lucy and Edmund, who sat up talking with their backs against the rock. It was one of those uncomfortable sleeps—my least favorite kind—when you wake up, sort of crying, without being able to really remember why, except whatever nightmare you had must've been a doozy. Luckily I wiped away the sand-encrusted tears before anyone realized I had awoken.

The rain came down so hard that it eventually soaked through our blanket and began to drip, drip on our heads.

"Let's have some supper!" Tusk called.

I groaned with my sore muscles and got to my feet, stumbling over to Aemon and Tusk where we were, naturally, in charge of passing out food. The goats had been skinned and stuck over spits and were now ready. We passed out the tin plates, ripped off chunks of meat from the carcasses, then added blocks of hard cheese, apples, and tumblers of Archenland wine, the strong stuff that had to be watered down. I only drank water, but everyone seemed a little more relaxed and smiley afterwards.

While they had a regular fine wining and dining sort of meal, and relaxed as well as we could in the downpour. Luckily, it lifted, and though the gray sky remained, the mist began to dissipate as well.

Edmund was munching on his second helping of goat. "This is the best goat I've ever tasted," he mumbled with a mouth full.

"We haven't had goat in years, not since our time, actually," Lucy said.

"Baaa," I imitated a goat. Both of them ceased chewing for a moment to regard me with raised eyebrows. "It's weird eating goat," I said to try and calm their suspicions of my inherent craziness. "We raise them at my house, to keep the pastureland weed-free. We don't eat 'em."

They nodded in unison, resuming their chewing with some hesitancy.

"Do you suppose Pan feels like he's eating a distant cousin?" I questioned.

Edmund nearly snorted up his last bite and Lucy covered her mouth with her hand. I couldn't tell if they were holding back laughter or tears of sudden regret. Ed was coughing, doing a bit of both I suppose. He grinned and shook his head, glancing towards Pan sitting a good ten yards away.

Then his eyes narrowed. "Huh," he said curiously, "Where is that blighter Eustace?"

Lucy sat up. "I haven't seen him since… since…"

"I don't actually remember seeing him since we landed," I said, having a sneaking suspicion about what was going to happen. I actually thought we were on the poison water island… or enchanted water… whatever the heck that one was… it was hard to remember the order of the book adventures when you're on sea for so much longer than the fiction gives you credit for.

We looked around camp. We alerted everyone to his status of 'missing'. We checked the river, the nearby brush, just inside the line of rust-colored tree trunks. We debated about whether or not he had run away, fallen into a hole, or was eaten.

Rhince made the mistake of saying good riddance, and Reepicheep gave him a reprimand that no mouse had given before.

"You've never spoken a word that has become you less," he said, his high voice narrow to a point of sharp, dreadful seriousness. "The creature is no friend of mine but he is of the Queen's blood, and while he is one of our fellowship it concerns our honor to find him and avenge him if he is dead."

"Of course we've got to find him if we can," Caspian stated, his weariness betrayed by the sleepy way in which he gave this command while he'd usually let it ring out and get the men going. "That's the nuisance of it. It means a search party and endless trouble. Bother Eustace."

"There," Rhince whispered to Reepicheep, "If the King don't like 'em, I don't have to either, Master Mouse. Mark my words, the little boy has gotten into a pit o' trouble."

"All the same," Reepicheep murmured. "Friend or not, if the young one has gotten himself into some trouble, I'm sure he is more than regretting his past unpleasantries."

"We'll organize a search party," Caspian walked about, grabbing various articles he might need—a belt, his sword, and a leather vest. "Edmund, I'm putting the camp under your watch. I'll take Aemon, Persus, Midge, Olan, Pan, Orpheus, Geoff, Thornton…"

"You sent Midge and Orpheus back to guard the ship," reminded Edmund. "With Ave and Klaire."

"Right," Caspian said tiredly. "It's nightfall anyway, the nightcrawlers are energetic. I'll bring the rest of 'em along. Anyone left will stay behind as sentries."

"I'll get them set up, don't worry," Edmund promised.

"Please find Eustace," Lucy added unnecessarily.

"We'll do our best, dear friend," Caspian tried to give her a comforting smile.

"Are we to stay, then?" I asked.

"Try to get some sleep," Caspian said. "Who knows what the night will bring?"

…

Lucy and I spent a half hour searching the brush along the beach, calling till we were hoarse and falling asleep while we walked.

"It's no use," I finally said. "Let's obey the king and get some sleep."

We curled up in our shelter. Edmund was on first sentry duty with Baron, and threw a thick blanket over us. "It's going to be a chilly night," he said. "Sleep tight."

But Lucy refused to shut her eyes. "I'm waiting up for the search party," she said.

"Your Majesty," I began.

"No, Pippin. I'm waiting up."

"Yes, your Majesty," I said resignedly with a yawn, burrowing into the sand a little and using one of the shirts for warmer weather to wad up as a pillow.

The fog had returned, but the rain was gone, and a sharp wind lashed at the trees and whipped up tendrils of sand. I stirred a little when the search party returned very late, when Lucy got up to speak with them. I was too paralyzed with sleep to investigate for news, and soon dropped off again.

But sometime, very late—or very early, depending how you see it—when dawn was only just filtering gray rays behind a black curtain, Edmund was shaking me awake.

"What?" I moaned.

"Quick, up," Edmund barked.

"Okay, okay," I sat up and threw the blanket around my shoulders. _I will not part from you, warm fuzzy one, _I thought sleepily. I trudged after Edmund, where a cluster of the men had gathered.

"What?" I said blearily, when everyone drew their swords.

"There's a dragon down in the shallows," Edmund whispered. "And we're going to battle."

I blinked. "Oh. I should get a—a sword then."

"You and Lucy are coming to have a look, not a fight."

"Perfect," Aemon's voice muttered with glee. _Sexist little b—_

"Though if something should happen to me," Edmund's voice was for my ears only. "You—you would take care of Lucy, wouldn't you?"

That woke me up faster than a bucket of water. "I will always take care of my friends," I said stoutly. _Seriously, just cast me in the Hobbit, okay, Mr. Jackson? _"But nothing will happen to you." _Wow, cheesy. Maybe I should be on TV instead. _

I looked across the expanse of the sand. The beach was, perhaps, a quarter mile in curved length. The width was about a hundred and fifty feet of sand, from the bay edge to the forest leaves. We'd camped where there was shelter among the longer branches and rocks, but further down, we could see the heaving shadow of a creature standing in the shallows, right in the grooves where the longboat had rested.

We began to trudge down the hill. Lucy and I were boxed in the middle of the men with their armor and weapons at ready. Reepicheep leapt onto Lucy's shoulder for a lookout. "You don't mind, my Lady?" he asked respectively.

"I'd rather you were near," Lucy confessed.

Reepicheep patted her cheek with his tiny paw in reply.

The dragon was not very beautiful as I imagined. He wasn't sleek and bespeckled with color, but rather scaly to the degree of looking like a pile of tin cans with legs. Tall legs, with elbows bent, a large snout with big golden eyes. His tail swept back and forth across the shallows, creating little waves. His wings shuddered as he spotted us and fell back, tripping over his own tail to put that massive serpent body in reverse.

"He's scared," I said. _Might as well get the ball rolling… I know who it is already. _

"And now it's nodding," Caspian said at the front, with confusion.

"Something coming from its eyes, perhaps it's diseased," Drinian added.

"No, no, can't you see? It's crying!" Lucy exclaimed. "The poor beast is terrified."

"But crocodiles do the very same thing to lure their prey," Drinian said gently.

Suddenly the dragon shifted its head from side to side violently.

"It's wagging it's head, as if to say no," Edmund narrated. "Look, it's doing it again."

"You know crocodiles don't actually have tear ducts?" I added. "They cannot cry. So why should dragons? Unless of course this isn't really a dragon."

Lucy glanced at me sharply. "You think the dragon might understand what we're saying?"

"Now it's nodding yes," Edmund said.

Reepicheep jumped to the ground and slipped to the front of the group. "Dragon," he announced, as if challenging it to combat, "Do you understand human speech?"

Poor Dragon-boy nodded.

"Can you speak?" Reep continued.

Dragon-boy shook—No.

"Then it is idle to ask you about your business, but you may extend your left foreleg if you wish to swear us friendship."

The dragon tried to obey, but its leg was swollen and encircled by some sort of bejeweled bracelet, in a dull golden color. It gave a heave of disappointment, little puffs of smoke coming from the pointed nostrils, when its leg seemed incapable of being raised in friendship.

"Oh look, he is hurt, perhaps he wants us to cure him," Lucy darted forward.

"Wait!" Caspian cried. "Dragons are _clever, _Lucy. It could be a liar."

"It needs our help," Lucy said stubbornly, running across the sands towards the giant lizard. Armed and ready for anything, the men had no choice but to follow the Queen.

"Sire," Drinian said suddenly. "The bracelet."

"Look at it," Caspian agreed.

"Look at what?" Edmund said exasperatingly. "Lucy, don't get too close."

The dragon did nothing but stand as we approached. Lucy pulled her cordial from her pocket, opened the vial, and let a small drip fall into the swollen Dragon-arm.

"It's the hammer and diamond star sigil," Drinian explained. "I've seen it before…"

"Seen it before?" laughed Caspian, with a little relief. "Of course you have. That's Lord Octesian's sign—the sign of a great Narnian house. This is HIS arm ring."

"Villain!" exploded Reepicheep, holding his tiny sword aloft. "Have you devoured a Narnian lord?"

The dragon tried to protest with a swivel of his head.

"No, no, perhaps it is the Lord Octesian, enchanted into being a dragon," Lucy said, giving its terrible-looking arm a comforting pat. "Are you the Lord Octesian?"

"It might be neither, but it's safe to say the Lord never made it past this island," Edmund said gloomily.

The dragon shook its head _No _with solemn finality.

"But you could be a human, under an enchantment?" Lucy asked kindly. Suddenly, she glanced back at me, and whispered, "Did you say Eustace would learn his lesson by _fire_ and not by water?"

"Good memory," I cringed. "I didn't mean this—but—I guess it's as good a foreshadowing as any."

"Oh, no," Edmund groaned. "It can't be."

But the dragon nodded _Yes _and gave them a horrible, toothy grimace. The poor thing was trying to smile and looked absolutely hideous while doing it.

"You're not—Eustace, by any chance, are you?" Edmund asked tentatively.

We all stepped back with surprise when the Dragon growled in reply, nodding up and down, splashing his own chin in the waves and sliding its tail erratically from side to side.

Aemon and Ave both let out a string of curse words in surprise, but an eyebrow raised from Caspian shut them both up.

"Haha, Eustace," I laughed, "You… you poor thing."

The creature glared at me, its yellow, sobbing eyes narrowing to thin slits. That couldn't prevent the giant, steaming tears from falling into the ocean with hisses.

Everyone began to talk at once, trying to comfort Eustace and tell him that we'll find a way to have him back to normal.

"All will be well in a day or two," Caspian lied through his teeth. "These sort of things usually don't last that long."

"We'll stick by your side, young one," Reepicheep promised, "No matter what!"

"It's a good look for you," Drinian said sourly, patting his thick neck hesitantly. "But we'll see about getting you back to being human."

"This is hard luck," Edmund said, torn between cursing him out or laughing.

Lucy scrunched up her face and tried to kiss the green and brown scales of the Dragon's cheek, but you could tell it was not a pleasant experience. "There there," she said, "I am relieved to see you aren't dead, Eustace. We were all so worried about you. Don't cry, we'll get this fixed. In the meantime try to come back to camp with us, you will, won't you?"

It was trying to waddle.

"There you go," Lucy crooned, patting his bumpy elbow as he shuffled up the sandy incline. "You'll feel better by the fire, won't you?"

At this, Eustace gave a snort of approval, and a burst of flame came out of his large mouth. Those that were walking in front leapt to the sides with loud exclamations of terror.

Lucy stepped away from him, tugged on my arm, and led me a few feet away. Out of earshot, she whirled and gave me a fierce look. "You couldn't have at least told me he was all right, if you knew," Lucy said to me, truly frustrated with me the first time. "You knew this was Eustace, that he wasn't harmed—well, dead anyway—and yet said nothing?"

"Lucy!" I exclaimed, shriveling up inside. _Oh my gosh, my new best friend hates me. She hates me. I can't believe it. Lucy Pevensie is actually sort of mad at me. _

"Pippin!" responded Lucy. "You can't pretend you didn't have some idea. It certainly explains why you weren't very concerned."

"Of course I was concerned," I said hastily. "I helped you look, remember?"

"Then why keep mum?" Lucy repeated with a huff.

"I can't just blab about everything that happens in the future," I frowned. "If I did, whose to say it isn't going to just _change_? What if I mess up the future by saying something? It's not my job to be, like, an oracle or something."

Edmund left the chattering sailors and loped up. "What are you two talking about so heatedly?" He glanced at us, eyebrows furrowed. Both of us sort of ignored his question.

"I can't help but feel that we're going to… have differing opinions on this subject," Lucy said, as if testing the waters of our very first real disagreement. "Though I don't understand why…"

"I didn't actually know where Eustace was," I protested, which was true. "I only had a suspicion about what might happen. Anything I think I know has been dashed to ribbons with reality—I mean, I could never have known about losing Robin, or which island this is, or anything. And even if I had an inkling, I think it's safe to say that Aslan doesn't wish me to reveal anything before its time. It wouldn't just give an ending away, or alleviate worry. It could, literally, spoil your life and ruin what is supposed to happen. I'm sorry, Lucy. Aslan is the only one who can do what he wants with knowing the future and all that. I have to play by His rules if I'm allowed to be in Narnia at all."

"While I _do _see what you mean," Lucy amended. "I just wish I could have saved myself hours of worry, that's all. I think I know what you mean, though, about leaving the games of omni-knowledge to Aslan. I don't mean to quarrel, honestly."

"If I knew for sure this was Dragon night, I would have tried to ease your worry," I assured her, but in a way, I was pleading. _Please don't be angry with me… _"But I had very little to go on," I added, "It just seemed like another island to me."

Edmund continued to watch us, eyes bulging. "It's finally happened," he said. "I never thought I'd see this happened—but it's happened. You two are having a row. Of course, you two having a row is like watching a pair of blind kittens have a go at each other, but still."

"Oh Edmund, what a stupid thing to say," Lucy snapped.

"If I row with you, Edmund, it'd be more like a mauling bear, so don't press your luck," I said, trying to be lighthearted and giving him a light punch in the shoulder.

"Pippin, it makes me wonder, though," Lucy said, drawing my attention back to the issue at hand. "What's the point of Aslan letting you know the future if you aren't supposed to use it?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "The first time you came here, you didn't know anything at all. Why the change?"

"People change, Lucy," I shrugged. "Maybe it was important for me to be surprised the last time I was here, so Aslan erased my memory. Maybe it's more important for me to not be quite so ignorant this time. Whatever the reason, I don't know."

"That's like asking 'if you aren't here to tell the future, why are you even here'," Edmund pointed out. "Which I'm sure isn't what Lucy means. We like you being here because we're friends."

"Yes, Edmund's right, I'm not questioning your presence," Lucy agreed.

"But rather my purpose?" I suggested gloomily.

"That seems a bit harsh," Lucy shook her head. "But of course, we all question what Aslan's purpose is for us while we're here. Humans only come to Narnia from our World when it is in dire need."

"Ha," I said sarcastically. "Because I contribute so _much _to this world. I don't give away the ending of the book and I can't lift anything more that fifty pounds. I take up space on the ship and annoy the sailors." I grew suddenly louder, not really meaning to. "I mean—it's not like I haven't asked Aslan why I'm here. Believe me, I've _tried_ to talk to him." My voice grew tight, and I unconsciously made a fist. "And I haven't heard _a single bloody word _from the _great bloody lion!_"

The conversation had been placed on the chopping block. I hate long pauses at the end of a phrase where I mentally put an exclamation point at the end. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding that up inside of me, but now it was said, and no one responded. Edmund and Lucy were dumbfounded.

There was nothing to do but look out over the water, turning to a deep shade of gray as dawn rose behind a bank of black fog. I didn't know what else to say.

"Pippin, dear," Lucy said eventually.

"It's fine, Lucy, don't worry about it," I said thickly. "I don't know why I said that."

"I think I do," volunteered Edmund.

"No, no, it's just… spiritual… insecurity," I muttered, waving it off. "You know, doubt and silence and all that… perfectly normal, isn't it? It's not like I'm one of his, ya know, chosen, or whatever." My sentence dropped off uncomfortably. How else do you end a conversation like that?

_Hey, first fight! _

_Yay, we're still friends! _

_Why are you here? _

_CUE BLOW UP THAT TELLS EVERYONE HOW GODLESS YOU FEEL BECAUSE THE BIG CAT IN THE SKY DOESN'T ANSWER YOUR PRAYERS AUDIBLY! _

"Goodnight, my darlin's," I said with a forced chuckle, turning back to camp.

…

Over the next morning, Eustace tried—unsuccessfully—to write out what happened in the sand. The tide came through and ruined his claw-written words, and he kept sweeping away parts of it with his tail on accident.

_I WNET TO SLEE… ROGOS AGRONS I MEAN DRANGONS CAVE CAUSE IT WAS DEAD AND AINING SO HAR… WOKE UP AND COU… GET OFF MI ARM OH BOTHER…_

Finally, I decided to cheat with a bit of book knowledge. It wasn't exactly giving away the future, but I wanted to try and ease Lucy's mind as much as I could. Now that I was aware of her feelings… I tried to be sensitive to it.

"It seems to me," I said, folding my hands and going into Sherlock mode. "He found the dead dragon by the cave, went inside to sleep because it was raining so hard. When he woke up, he found he was enchanted by the fact the bracelet was now stuck onto his arm because his arm had grown so large. Then he found his way back to us."

Eustace blew smoke through his nostrils and nodded, like a horse chomping at the bit.

"And I think that means yes," Edmund said. "So we can assume the gold in the cave was enchanted. Which means going in the cave to find a remedy would do no good, since we'd probably just end up with more dragons on our hands."

"Thanks for telling us," Lucy said quietly, knowing full well that I wasn't just making things up or being goofy.

Other than this hint of its existence, did not mention our conversation the night before.

…

The crew spent the morning trying to figure out what to do, but in the meantime, the dragon seemed to want to make himself useful. Just as Lucy and I stood to get more firewood, Eustace trotted over to the forest, grasped a branch with his teeth, ripped it off like it was a slice of butter, and plopped it next to the fire. When it was time to get the water barrels back to the ship, Eustace raced ahead of them, picked them up with his clawed hands, and flew it across the bay before setting them down onto the deck. His huge, bat like wings made _thwomp, thwomp _sounds on the water surface when he came back. He seemed to grin somewhat grotesquely when all the men began to congratulate him of saving them a half hour of work and rowing. They all slapped his shoulders and grinned and told him job well done. He seemed to get the idea that he _liked _working, and loved receiving smiles and kind words in return. He launched himself from the beach on the second day, was gone for a few hours, and came back with the biggest, straightest pine tree on the island. Considering the venture to find one has been unsuccessful the day before, everyone was very grateful. Then he began to hunt, bringing back thick, wild boars, rabbits, brush hens and a giant, four foot fish from somewhere in the stream.

Suddenly, everyone liked Eustace. And poor, sweet, dragon Eustace seemed to fall over himself to help everyone, every day, with every little thing.

The real work began on the Dawn Treader. The men took shifts, sawing and sanding the new mast. Eustace took it to the ship and the crew began to set it aboard. Then the men who knew rigging the best reattached ropes and the freshly sewn and repaired purple sail. We restocked dried meats and delicious, wild fruits that we found on the island.

One fine afternoon, Eustace allowed Lucy and I to scramble onto his back. Much like a horse, his back shuddered and lifted off the ground, and with every _woosh _of his wings, we were lifted higher and higher. The air was thinner and colder, but we clung to the spikes on his neck and to each other, giggling as he soared carefully inland. You all know how much I dislike heights. I came to a point where vertigo took over and I had to shut my eyes, pretending I wasn't really _flying on a freakin' dragon. _

When he descended with clumsy flaps, we jumped harmlessly to the ground.

"What's that in your mouth, Eustace?" Lucy asked.

Eustace opened his jaws and let three burlap sacks fall onto the tall grass.

"Look, Lucy!" I said. "More brush hens!"

Every where in the clearing of tall, yellow grasses, hens clucked and darted away from us.

"We'll have chickens aboard the ship again!" I said excitedly.

Then we began a merry chase. I taught Lucy how to catch the chickens by sneaking up, jumping, and grabbing them by the tail, pulling them in and scooping them up with your arms to prevent their wings from smacking you in the face. (Hey, being a farm girl has its advantages. I am good at catching chickens. True story.)

We collected five, put them gently in the burlap sacks, and clambered aboard the Dragon again.

"Thank-you for showing us where they were," Lucy said gratefully, holding her bag carefully as the chickens squawked and protested inside.

"Yes, thank-you," I said assuredly, trying not to drop mine. It was a rather precarious flight back with a bag in Eustace's teeth, one in my hand and one in Lucy's, each of us trying to cling to the Dragon without falling off.

But Eustace was a good flyer, better than before, taking care with his erratic wing movements or flying too high. We were back at camp within a half hour, grinning and presenting Eustace's find to Tusk. We kept them in the cage aboard deck under the ladder, and in an hour, there was already an egg in the corner.

But after almost a week of good work, bonfire nights, cold slumbers in the night and making the Dawn Treader look like a beauty of the sea once more, the question arose—what were we to do with Eustace?

"Isn't there any sort of magical knowledge that we possess about being trapped in animal form?" Lucy asked Caspian, on the fifth day. "Anything to help us un-enchant him?"

"Pippin? Anything in that history book of yours?" Caspian asked innocently, not knowing, of course, what we'd previously conversed.

"I don't remember how long the dragon thing lasts," I said. "And I don't know when he gets turned back. I don't really remember the details. It's been so long… I just don't know… I mean, I think I know that none of us actually does anything about it. I think."

"So we wait?" Caspian sighed.

"Yeah, that's all we can do."

"Very well," Lucy nodded, never quite losing hope that everything happened in the right time, even if she felt anxious about it, and even if she wished I'd tell her otherwise.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **_**Lions and Dragons and Serpents, oh my! **__**Also, Eustace becomes a boy again and we have a very peculiar narrow escape…**_

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**Important note to all: The 'scene' where Flanagan tries to play the flute, then whistle's 'Robin's theme' (a song I sort of… well, wrote, I suppose?) has been made into a sound bit, and you can listen to it on my tumblr site for this story. Check out pippinstrange DOT tumblr DOTcom(without the parentheses and periods instead of DOT obviously lol) and let me know what you think of the song.**

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**Replies to Reviews**

**Faby: **I think Aemon is a little too old for Lucy ;)

**ClarinetRox88: **I wish I could go to your school concert! I love the music from the Narnia movies! And the Doctor rocks. There was a semi truck that went by my apartment every morning and it always sounded like the Tardis!

**Jewel in a Crown (for ch 12): **I felt the same way! I felt like my chapters were slow and dry but I am relieved to see that the introduction of the Pevensies had the right dose of magic. I needed that sort of magic! I am so glad you are enjoying my story. Thank-you SO much!

**(for ch 15): **Haha, Aemon annoys me too! I should've known, since he is exactly like a real-life friend of mine named Jo. I kept wondering… why do we argue so much?! Then I realized… oh my gosh… Aemon and Jo are basically the same person. I'm going to post a picture of Jo and I up on the tumblr site, **pippinstrange DOT tumblr DOTcom** . I guess you should all see the real-life inspiration. As for the storm, I tried to write my personal experiences with a tornado and really bad winter storms (wind, floods, rain) and translate it into a 'sea' experience. I guess having reoccurring nightmares about tsunamis and drowning sort of helps, too? It's almost like having the experience… haha…

**WiseQueen: **Oh yes, the death was canon. You know how terrible it was choosing all those weeks ago which crew member to kill off? I felt horrible about it but I felt Robin was, somehow, meant to go. Even a bit of foreshadowing and things seemed to slip into Robin's character without me even forcing the issue. And thank-you for your compliments, I was worried about my storm descriptions! It's not quite the same as being on the sea, but I've been literally only a few yards from a tornado funnel (I made it to the barn in time, luckily) and been in a few "hurricane like" winter storms (wind, rain, floods, etc) so I tried to channel what it felt like then.

**KoKD94123: **I am very sorry KoKD! (my head pronounces this at Ko-Kady or Coke-Dee). Can I come to your corner and cry with you?!

**Penspot: **Thank-you, my loyal reader! =) I am so glad you enjoyed the last chapter.

**TheSnake'sLioness: **Thank-you so much!

**Softballgirl: **Interestingly enough, I think unhappenings still might even have a part to play in this story as well. We'll see. I have a plot bunny running around the crazy hutch.

Also, I cannot believe you cried! Wow! That's like, the biggest compliment a writer could ever get, I think. So I believe I should thank-you, but if only I could offer you a tissue and a hug, too, I would. I am so glad you felt deep emotions with this chapter, even if it wasn't really happy. Big hugs to you! :)

**Guest: **Unfortunately Robin's death is not an unhappening. I wish it could be! But the death of a sailor from being washed overboard in the storm was actually in the book itself. The death is sadly final :( But I can't say there won't be unhappenings in the future! I've been thinking about those lately!

**ZombieKillerLevi: **Ugh I know I'm a terrible person! I felt so emotional writing it up, but it had to be done. FEEL AAAALL THE FEELS! I accept your hug.

**Guest: **Oh my ! Sometimes I cannot even believe that there is shipping! I mean… wow! I'm being SHIPPED with someone! That just blows my mind. As far as what Aemon looks like, it wasn't until I had already written several chapters of him that I realized—in my head—he acted and looked exactly like a real-life friend of mine. I just realized how weird it was that I didn't notice the similarities before. There are character-pics up on the facebook page (search for Pippin Strange, writer to LIKE the page). And I'm going to post character pictures up on the tumblr as well **pippinstrange DOT tumblr DOTcom**


	17. Among Creatures of the Deep

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Thank-you for your lovely comments and continual support. I don't know how much I could write without you all. (hey, Jewel in a Crown, thanks for your lovely suggestions! Hope you don't mind that I borrow 'em!) **

**Further personal replies below. **

**Much love,**

**Pip**

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…

**Strange Things Happen**

…

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Chapter 17

Among the Creatures of the Deep

My expectations, for the sake of drama and excitement, were unfortunately disappointed. I was looking forward to Eustace's redemption as much as the next reader, so when he showed up at breakfast one morning looking perfectly normal and healthy, I will admit a feeling like being cheated crept into my being. I will _further _admit—because I don't like to sugarcoat my own faults—that I was partially jealous. Eustace explained to us, in a shy sort of fashion, that he had seen _a_ great lion.

But he meant _the_ great lion, of course. He saw _Aslan, _and had the gall to show up and say it all happened with an awed sort of voice.

I felt offended for how casual it all was. Lucy and I sat on the sands under a blanket, eating a dismal potato lunch. Edmund appeared from an outcropping of rocks at the far end of the beach, leading the petulant—or shall I say repentant?—Eustace. The sailors all gasped and jumped to their feet, surrounding the poor boy and giving him handshakes and back slaps all around. Lucy gave him a warm embrace.

I hung back, grinning, eager to hear the story.

"I woke up—and thought I saw a huge lion… I felt as if the lion wished for me to follow him, and I did—His voice seemed to come from inside of me, and he—I won't go into the details I suppose—but he seemed to rip the dragon's skin right off of me." Eustace's voice was quite different now. It's amazing how a voice can change when the whining and complaining is simply removed from it.

"It hurt something horrible, but, he gave me new clothes—and—well, I shan't go on. Edmund says it was Aslan."

He looked thoughtful as he held the Lord Octesian's ring in his hands. "Or maybe it was from putting this on, and greedily trying to stuff my pockets with others."

The sailors all hummed in agreement, as if they had all heard this sort of dragon-lore before and knew precisely what had enchanted Eustace.

"He saved me from the enchantment—which I can tell you, I think that came from falling asleep on top of the treasure pile."

Caspian supposed that, when Eustace found the treasure, perhaps that same treasure had enchanted Lord Octesian—or perhaps he had been killed by a dragon? We would never know.

As Eustace finished his story, my feelings were less than admirable. If I was to be a part of this trip—falling into a fictional world, no less, why shan't I be a part of _all _the plot?

I missed meeting Aslan. Eustace met him, and I was jealous, to put it simply. Aslan had appeared on the island, and we were all grateful to Him for the change in Eustace. We may not have been able to bear a longer trip with such a brat. But couldn't he have stayed a little longer? Appeared to me in the dream? Took Lucy and I for a ride?

Perhaps it was too much to ask. I resigned to seeing Aslan at the end of the trip, if I made it to the edge of the world.

"You feel it too?" Lucy asked me sometime later, as we stirred two buckets of paint for the Treader's sides.

"Feel what?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, that feeling when you feel like you've missed a train," Lucy sighed. "Or when a film star visits the blitz damage and you're stuck at school."

"Yes," I exclaimed. "And you?"

"Whenever Aslan appears, and I don't get to see Him, I feel very sad," she said matter-of-factly.

"It's a blow, isn't it?" Edmund piped up. He walked around our log and plopped down beside us. He absently picked up a stirring pipe and tried to stir as well. "Knowing Aslan was here last night. Wish we could have seen him. Good turn out for Eustace, though! Have you noticed how _kind _he's been to everyone?"

"You're right, of course, Edmund," Lucy said, "We should be thinking positively. Eustace seemed very much changed—in more ways than just losing his, uh, dragon suit. See, look—he's lifting that bucket for Reepicheep!"

"When you were rulers," I asked, "Did you ever see Aslan? When you ruled Narnia for all those years? Or was it only when you defeated the one-hundred year winter?"

Edmund and Lucy glanced at each other. "Sort of," Lucy said. "His influence and guidance was always so close, it was like he never really left. There was that incident with Prince Cor and Tashbaan…"

"And he came to us in dreams and visions," Edmund added.

"He appeared to others," Lucy said. "Not just us. We always heard of his presence somewhere. That's why finding Narnia in ruins was such a shock," she reminded me. "Cair Paravel and the talking animals always had their freedom thanks to Aslan. Without them, it was like Aslan's presence had gone."

"I never told you how incredible the rebuild is," I declared suddenly. "I stayed in one of the rooms. Caspian is doing the old palace justice, I'm sure, but he's creating a whole new one, too. There's a room where the ocean flows right into a pool chamber."

"Just like at our coronation," Lucy smiled. "I wish I could see it!"

"I wish so too," Edmund agreed. "And Pippin, you're far more likely to see Aslan than we are to see the reconstruction of our old home. As much as we'd want to, it probably won't happen. But if we make it to Aslan's country at the edge of the world, why wouldn't he be there?"

"I guess you're right," I said.

Eustace approached our group, a little warily. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"You don't need to ask!" Lucy said, patting the ground. He sat beside us, and without being told, picked up a stick and stirred another bucket.

"I'm afraid I've been terrible to you all," he said presently.

"I was terrible to you, too," I mumbled. "I shouldn't have teased you about the British Consul. There really aren't any in Narnia. And I didn't murder them all, either."

"Of course, of course, I know that," Eustace said. "It was a good joke. Really. But—I mean—Aslan did a lot more than just turn me back into a boy. I feel like he gave me a way to see how I've been acting—how I shouldn't have been acting."

"It's all right, cousin," Edmund playfully punched his shoulder. "Don't dwell on it. And I'm sorry I called you an ass on multiple occasions."

Eustace grinned a little. "We can all be friends, can't we?"

"I should say so," Lucy said comfortingly.

…

When the sides were repainted, it was time to leave the island. It was appropriately dubbed Dragon Island. Rynelf and Ave set to work on carving in the information on a smooth-faced rock, and wrote;

_Dragon Island_

_discovered by Caspian X, King of Narnia, etc. _

_in the fourth year _

_of his reign. _

_Here, as we suppose,_

_the Lord Octesian _

_had his death._

When he finished, I thought it looked like poetry. Eustace held Lord Octesian's ring in his hands, and when Drinian finished reading the final engraving aloud, he handed it to Caspian.

"Here," Eustace said, blushing slightly, "I suppose we ought to do something with this—since it was his. Octesian's, I mean."

"I don't think we shall take it aboard," Caspian said thoughtfully. "What do you think, your Majesty?" he addressed Lucy. "Add it to the finery?"

"I wouldn't like having it aboard, either," Lucy confessed.

"Very well, then, catch as catch can," Caspian said flippantly, tossing it into the air. The ring arced into the air and _clang! _fell against the rock that had been carved, and caught itself on a protrusion of rock where thick weeds grew out of the moss. It hung there for a moment, glittering in the sunlight.

"Might as well stay," Drinian said. "And good riddance to it, in my opinion."

"I agree," Caspian said. "All aboard, then?"

There was a peculiar silence over us as we boarded the longboat. Eustace turned his back on the island and faced ahead as quickly as he could.

The quiet was broken when we were on decks again, and suddenly it was a celebration of hitting the high seas again. Everyone was chipper and the island behind us was just a strange adventure long past.

…

"Land ho!" called Klaire the next morning. Fair winds had brought us not too far, but with good speed, to an island that Eustace could see while he was flying about as a dragon. It was such a small island, a long spit of sand with tall grasses and rocks on its summit. I walked from one beach, to the other side, in less than a minute.

In some of the rocks, we found burn marks, and weapons rusting in the sands.

"I guess it was once inhabited," Drinian said dryly. As if to answer his question, there was a bleat, followed by a _baaaa_, and a small goat ran by out of the brush.

Ave and I both took off after it.

"Pirates work," suggested Caspian, looking at the burn marks.

"Or a dragon's?" Eustace said, and no one contradicted him.

Ave launched for the goat and fell onto his face. The goat skirted to a stop and panted, looking at us.

"Here little baby," I began cooing, holding out a hand.

"That's right, Pippin!" hissed Ave. "Catch the dinner! I'm too big, I'll just scare it off."

"He's not for eating!" I exclaimed. I have two goats at home, and both of them are adorable little darlings who like to snuggle. The goat made a burping sound and took a tentative step towards me.

"Goat meat is delicious," Ave said solemnly, picking himself up and trying not to make any sudden movements.

"We've got the wild game from Dragon island to last us a month or more, and you want to kill this adorable goat?" I reached the goat now, and patted its back carefully. It's straight little tail wagged spastically.

Drinian glanced over at us. "Ave, we don't have room for the goat, to be honest."

"Fine!" Ave sighed, waving his hand. The goat flinched.

"Poor little goaty," I rubbed its ears, and after a second, it blinked and turned away, trotting dismissively around a few small scrubby trees and disappearing around the bend.

"Sire!" Reepicheep called, from the other point of the island. "I would like to humbly ask your permission to keep this boat!"

"Boat?" Caspian laughed. We all scrambled down the small hill, where Reepicheep sat triumphantly beside a tiny, circular boat, tied to a tree and sitting on the sands.

"Ah, a coracle, and just your size," Rhince laughed.

"Ain't no room for a goat, but room for that?" Ave snorted.

"We'll store it in the longboat," Caspian said. "No reason why Reepicheep shouldn't have a coracle that seems it was made for him!"

"Must have been made for a child," Lucy said, with a degree of gravity. "I do hope the people of this island weren't grievously hurt or killed off…"

"Most likely they left," Edmund said kindly. "Maybe dwarves lived here. It's just that size."

"Let's take it aboard!" Caspian said, going to lift it. Rynelf and Rhince tried to step in, but Caspian waved them off. I suppose a good king doesn't mind a little sweaty work here and there.

Caspian and Edmund carried the wicker and hide coracle to the longboat, and we left the island before lunchtime.

"What should we call it?" Caspian asked, as the longboat sloshed in the water and brought us under the shadow of the Treader's sail.

"Burnt Island," Ave said promptly.

"There is no scope for the imagination in a name like that," I quoted Anne Shirley unashamedly.

"Got any better suggestions?" Ave snapped.

"Avary!" Drinian hissed scoldingly. "Manners."

_His name is Avary! _I laughed inwardly.

Out loud, I said, "Isla de Fuego?" I suggested cheekily.

"I do like Pippin's better, it is more poetic," Lucy said politely.

I could see Caspian trying not to laugh. Perhaps the Spanish background of the Telmarine people—coming from pirates in the Caribbean—knew what the translation was. "Oh, we'll let Ave have this one," he smiled. "After all, he didn't get to have his goat."

So, Burnt Island it was.

But in my mind, I still called is Isla de Fuego.

…

_Dear Sketchbook,_

_It's been empty and sunshiney for almost a week. Three days so far of good wind and no sign of bird, beast, or land. There has been a sad lack of music with Robin gone, but Flanagan has picked up the flute more often, and has even tried for writing lyrics now and again. I've been helping him with some of the rhymes and word choice—like substituting 'weeping' for 'cries' since weeping is a much more poetic word. And it rhymes with sleeping, which made the verse work all the better. I actually had a chance—for the first time on this trip—to sit and read for a few hours. Lucy and I lounged inside the shade of the Dragon's mouth during the hottest hours of the day, reading books that was packed for me. When we wanted a change, we traded books. We've decided to celebrate the good travels by having a deck-party tonight. I was asked to sing again, but I definitely said no this time. I felt so embarrassed by my last try and it made me think of poor Robin too much. How was I to know his song about the lost love would be foreshadowing in his own story? Ugh. So I offered to tell a few stories instead. If I don't want to be a slightly off-pitch nightingale, I could always be a Wendy Bird and tell stories to the lost boys. I just hope none of them ask me to be their mother. _

_Pip_

_Pippin,_

_I just had to say, I am so pleased you've read Peter Pan too! Isn't James Barrie a strange person? I've read the book over and over because it reminds me of traveling to Narnia by magic, and I wonder if Mr. Barrie has done his own traveling. There doesn't seem to be any other books very much like it. _

_Lucy_

_Lucy,_

_I keep coming back to this sketchbook and finding your post scripts and it makes me laugh. Any suggestions for tonight?_

_Pip_

_Pippin,_

_Tell a few fairy tales, they'll love it. Maybe a few romantic ones. I think these poor sailors are realizing what it means to be traveling without any girls on board (save two unavailable ones!) because I heard Tusk singing something lonely yesterday. And even Aemon has been subdued in his usual teasing. I hope one of them finds an eligible bride on one of these islands and cures them of their moping! _

_Lucy_

…

"There once was a King and a Queen who longed for a child," I said that night, sitting as close as I could to a flickering torch so that they might see my animated gestures. "And when one was finally born to them, so great was their joy that they invited all the fairies of the land to join them in celebration. But they neglected to invite Maleficent, the greatest and most evil fairy of all the world. Peoples came from near and far to bequeath the gifts of beauty and song to the new Princess—whom they called Aurora. But suddenly, the great curtains of the palace drew closed, screams came from all around, and Maleficent materialized in a burst of green fire. She was horribly jealous of Princess Aurora, for she believed the throne to be rightfully hers. She decreed her gift thus;" Here, I launched into a deep, evilly witchy voice. "HERE IS MY GIFT FOR THE PRINCESS. ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY, SHE WILL PRICK HER FINGER UPON A SPINDLE AND DIE!"

"That voice is terribly creepy," Edmund said.

"The King and Queen were horrified—to have wished for so long for a child, only to have her life be given a few short years. But there was hope yet. A fairy who had not decided her gift, came forth to amend it. She could not change Maleficent's gift, but proposed, 'on her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger upon a spindle and fall into a deep sleep, and all the occupants of the castle with her, and true love's kiss shall break the spell'. But the King and Queen were not satisfied. They ordered all spindles to burn in a great fire, and sent the princess away in the dead of night with the very fairy who amended the prophecy. She grew up believing her name to be Briar Rose, not knowing her heritage or the fate that awaited her on her sixteenth birthday. One morning she was singing in the woods about love…"

"Sing!" Tusk cheered.

"Aye, sing!" chorused Klaire and Orpheus.

"No!" I squeaked.

"Go on, or are you scared?" Edmund joked. I glared at him.

"Fine," I said shortly.

I tried, though I did not remember all the lyrics or proper notes, to reconstruct a cover of _I Wonder _from the Disney version.

When they finished clapping and laughing at my red face, I tried to finish the story as quickly as possible.

"She met a young man, named Philip, who fell in love with her as she roamed the woods. The spent the whole afternoon together, talking and talking, and sometimes dancing. Unfortunately when she returned to the cottage where she lived with the fairy, Maleficent sent her spies to the fairies' home. The fairy confessed Aurora's true parentage. To escape, Aurora and her fairy fled to the castle—the very castle in which she was born. As they hid inside, Aurora thought she heard a voice calling her. She hoped it was her mother—she did not remember her, and wished to meet her. She followed the voice for flights of stairs, till she reached a room where an old woman sat at a spinning wheel. 'Mother?' she asked, reaching for the old woman's hood. She did not see the spindle in time—suddenly her finger was pricked, and she fell to the floor. All fell under the sleeping enchantment, and the fairy found her. The fairy laid her on a bed and sobbed quietly, and in the end, had nothing to do but leave. She began a search for 'the young man' Aurora had spoken about. It was almost a year later when she finally found him—he was a Prince in the next kingdom, the very one Aurora had been betrothed to as a baby. He followed the fairy to the castle where Aurora slept. He fought through the thick, thorny vines that had grown over the whole palace. Maleficient transformed into a great dra…"

I paused, and glanced at Eustace. "A great serpent," I changed it, "Like a snake! The Prince fought gallantly and plunged his sword into her heart! Then he ran up the stairs, found his beloved Briar Rose, and gave her a goodbye kiss (for he thought she was dead). Then she opened her eyes and smiled, the enchantment was broken, and they were married the very next day—she was reunited with her parents—and they all lived happily ever after."

Everyone clapped, and I sat down with a huff.

Then it was Pan's turn. He had never really performed for us, so it was a surprise. He brought out a little Y-shaped flute, and just before he put it to his lips, he said, "This is a—a very old piece. I doubt any of you would remember it. But, it's been passed down in my family for generations, always played in the night as we went to sleep."

He played a very familiar Narnian lullaby, and Lucy's eyes filled up with tears. Pan stopped the song before the lulling sense of sleep stole over anyone, and repeated the first few notes instead, and then bowed awkwardly to the applause. He spotted Lucy's tearful face, sat beside her, and took her hand.

…

We awoke on the sixth day to a hard, driving rain, lashing down and sweeping across the deck like a rogue fountain. It made everyone sour-faced and grumpy. The only thing to do was to play Reepicheep at chess, but Reepicheep always won, and it sapped all the fun out after the fourth consecutive loss. But no one had the heart to say no to his invitation.

"Bother," Eustace said, after his second game of chess. "What's the point of this rubbish old game if one can't get any better at it?"

"Careful, my friend," Reepicheep said, wrapping his tiny hands around the pieces to move them back into alignment. "Do not second-guess the game for your inexperience. It all comes with time! Come—play another!"

"I should think not," Eustace said drolly. "I shall only lose again."

"The rain turns everyone into a perfect daisy," I said, tapping Lucy's elbow. We bookmarked our pages, traded books across the table, and resumed reading.

Edmund stared at our new favorite reading pastime with a look of awe and disgust. "I shouldn't wonder if it'd be more fun to be in America with Susan right now," he said.

"You don't mean that," I said.

"What if I do?"

"You don't. I can tell you—personally—from experience. Narnia is better than America. End of story."

"What is 'america'?" Aemon asked mockingly.

"My home," I said. "I can complain about it all I want, but you're not allowed to make fun of it. That's how it works."

"What's the fun in that?" Aemon said loftily.

"What's the fun in that?" I imitated his Narnian-English accent with a grin.

"That's terrible," Eustace said pointedly.

"Hello!" Lucy exclaimed. "I do believe the rain is stopping! We should all get some fresh air."

"It's not like there isn't air inside," I said, in a very pre-puberty Edmund voice.

Edmund gave me his suspicious look, the one that usually followed where they'd like to accuse me of being obsessed with their lives to a point of being able to quote them in the years before I even knew them. Edmund was thinking far back to pre-Narnia days (before their own long reign) and probably couldn't place it. But at the same time, my quoting them always held a hint of the familiar.

We followed Lucy out to the deck and leaned over the railings, taking deep breaths of crystalline air and examining the rain clouds as they moved far away from us and dissolved into white and rose.

"What's that?" Lucy said, pointing off the side.

In the distance, about football field's length from us, was a outcropping of grayish lumps coming out of the water. They were several feet apart, and shifting. When one small hill went down into the water, another came up, but closer.

Klaire looked down from his post and gaped. "Land—ho? No. Something in the water, sire!"

Caspian and Drinian came down from the poop deck and joined us, leaning over the seats and staring with confusion.

"They aren't rocks," Drinian said, "Because they weren't there not a second earlier."

"One's just disappeared," Lucy said.

"There's another one!" Edmund pointed.

"This one is nearer," said Eustace nervously.

"Don't you think it's an animal of some sort?" I burst impatiently. "If whales were any longer they'd look the same on the surface."

"The whole thing is moving this way," Caspian said loudly. "All hands on deck! Arm yourselves! All hands on deck!"

Drinian blew a whistle, and bodies began to fly into a flurry all over. Drinian dropped the whistle from his mouth and watched the undulating surface with a dissatisfied frown. "It's moving much faster than we are sailing," he informed Caspian in a low voice. "It'll be on us in a minute."

"Shouldn't you arm yourself?" Geoff was suddenly beside me, blinking in the sunlight. He held a sword in one hand, and was holding out the hilt of another to me.

"Uh, uh," I glanced worriedly over at the Pevensies. Eustace and Edmund had their swords, Lucy went up to the poop deck and was preparing her bow. "I guess so," I accepted the sword slowly and tested its weight.

_God, this thing is heavy. How did I ever use one in the night raid? They must have given me a child's toy sword. _

I backed away from the railing and found myself bumping into the other sailors, preparing for whatever was in the water. I didn't really know what was going to happen at this point, except I knew the creature in the water was some sort of sea serpent, and I did not want to be anywhere near it.

We all held our breath, staring over the railing. It was disturbingly quiet, save the sloshing of the water against the portholes.

Then an immense shape rose out of the water.

It was the head of the serpent, large and ugly, all red-warted and green-scaled with a nose like a horse and eyes that bulged and glowed like a cartoon. It seemed to have no ears, only flaring nostrils, a roar like a velociraptor giving birth, and three rows of sharp, icicle-shaped teeth. It's neck just kept inclining upwards—it's entire body was one, long serpentine snake, with tubular bulges around it's neck and cheeks that gave it a horrific, gruesome look. There were barnacles trapped in every wrinkle down its spine.

"Shoot, shoot!" commanded Herring. Pan, Lucy, Midge, Persus, and Olan all let loose a volley of arrows. They swiftly landed with harmless _plinks _against the scales of the serpent, and fell unceremoniously into the sea below. Teeth tried throwing a harpoon, and while it did more damage to the smooth scales, it did not penetrate. It, too, merely scraped along till it fell into the water.

"Hold!" Caspian commanded. "Arrows and harpoon are no good. Its body armor is too strong. Tusk; prepare torches. We may have to fight it with fire."

Tusk handed unlit torches off to Aemon and Ave, and pulled out his tinder-box.

The beast swung its magnificently ugly head from side to side, towering higher than the mast like a cobra. It was staring down at the people on deck like a cat glaring into a bucket of fish.

Klaire was the closest to the sharp teeth. He had nothing but a small dagger up there with him. "Come a little closer, creature of the deep," he said threateningly, waving his small blade back and forth. "I'll cut your big eyes out, that's what I'll do!"

The creature seemed to obey him. Its mouth opened wide with a roaring yawn of hunger, but its strike went past the crows nest. It leaned over the deck, till the whole neck formed an archway over us, and then it plunged its head deep into the water again.

Its neck was a few meters thick and smelled foul. The loop of its body knocked a few people backwards, with most of us trapped by forecastle, and Lucy up on the poop deck. Its position seemed about as useful as a hairband around a wrist—you know you'll probably lose it before it will ever make it into your hair again.

Then the arch pulled taut, and with a high-pitched shriek and gurgle, the head reappeared on the same side. Klaire had been staring after it when it seemed to miss him by inches, and only to have it appear behind him a second time, he let out a curse of surprise and clung to the mast.

"It's going to loop about again!" Rhince cried urgently. "And tighten up and smash the ship to pieces!"

Eustace darted to the arch of the serpent neck, lifted his sword over his head, and slammed it downwards into the hide.

"Eustace, wait!" Reepicheep exclaimed.

Poor Eustace did not wait—he, for the first time, was overtaken by a desire to help and a glorious dose of bravery. He hit it again, and again, and the third time, the sword bounced off with half of it broken right off.

"Don't fight, don't fight!" shrieked Reepicheep, jumping right onto Eustace's arms, putting one paw on his hands to prevent him from breaking his sword any further. "Push! PUSH!"

"You heard the mouse!" Caspian exclaimed in surprise. "Push towards the poop deck! We'll roll it off!"

Everyone ran to the side of the creature and slammed themselves against it, pushing. I wedged myself against the spot closest to the railing, balancing myself with on hand and pushing with every ounce of strength that I had. Trying to push the serpent felt like throwing oneself against a brick wall that smelt of rubber and seaweed. It didn't seem to be doing any good.

"Distract the head, Klaire!" Caspian shouted. "Ed, help him!"

Edmund jumped to the mast, grabbed the rope ladder, and began working his way up to the top. Together, he and Klaire hollered and waved their arms, keeping the head from going over again and giving us _two _anaconda rolls to rid ourselves of.

"On three!" called Caspian. "ONE—TWO—THREE!" then we all pushed at once, and that actually moved it an inch or two. On the second count, the slithering mess actually shifted down a few feet. On the third, I was on the poop stairs, and we were pushing it almost over our heads.

"Get off there, Lucy!" I shouted upwards. "We're going to push it over the back of the boat!"

Lucy gave a little shriek to prepare herself, clambered over the top of the serpent, slid between its ridged spine, and slid off the other side. Caspian caught her in his arms and helped her down. "See to the mouse!" he said urgently.

Poor Reepicheep had been pushing so hard, he was nearly passing out. He had fallen behind, and even though we had pushed it farther down, he still held his paws out as if there was something there, crying valiantly, 'Don't give up everyone! Give another push!'

Lucy dropped down beside him and pulled a skin of water from her belt, trying to revive him.

The loop nearly fell back onto the lower deck, but on we went, giving groans of exertion on every count of three. Edmund and Klaire's shouting had grown inconceivably muddled, waving their arms and weapons around. The monster's head kept darting forward, trying to bite them, but they waved it off with the blades, and then coaxed it back with their taunting. Back and forth, it spatted and shrieked, and they spat and shrieked right back. It certainly kept it from diving into the water again and wrapping around twice.

It was over the poop rails now, the strain of the wood beneath the immense weight of the creature making creaking and groaning noises. The helm nearly broke, but it was just far enough above it that it only scraped along the top. Then on the other side of the helm, it dropped even lower, and we were stooping to push it. There was less room up there, and I backed away and let the men fill out the spaces. Blood vessels were burst from the strain all up and down my arms, and I suddenly wanted water more than anything.

The only thing preventing the serpent from being pushed off the back of the boat was the curled, decorative dragon-tail of the Treader.

"An axe! Cut the tail down!" commanded Caspian hoarsely. Lucy ran below deck, and in a moment, she was up again, carrying an axe from the supplies.

I barely had time to register Lucy's return when there was a _snap! _and the serpent's body was pushed right over the tail-end of the ship. It had been pulled so tightly that it snapped the wooden tail off of it's own accord, and all that was left was a splintery mess.

The ship had been tightened up in the creature like a spring—and when let loose—shot forward as if carried by the rapids of a river. The speed at which we leapt knocked us all to the ground with exclamations and groans of soreness and surprise.

Edmund and Klaire, luckily, were stuck in a heap in the crow's nest, and didn't fall out of it. The head of the creature leered away, examining the curve of his own body where the ship should have been.

Caspian began to cry out directions for the sailors to get us away quickly. The night crawlers went down to the oars, the others opened the sail farther, and the rudder steered us away from the serpent and due east.

The dumb serpent kept its head out of water for a time, nosing along his body and in the water, looking for the remains of the ship and the crew members to eat. The thing was too stupid to realize we had been freed from his snake-like hold, and not smashed to smithereens in his trap.

My body shook from the strain, and I sat with a sigh on the stairs. Everyone collapsed where they had left off the pushing, panting and wiping sweat from their brows. I hadn't even noticed when or where I had dropped the sword Geoff had given me…

I looked around the deck for it, frustrated, and realized someone must have put it away already. Oh well.

Caspian ordered the nightcrawlers to stop rowing for now, and to come up on deck and share a bit of rum before they returned to their afternoon slumber. They gladly tromped up from below, sweaty and grinning, and everyone lounged on the deck (not a very often occurrence in the middle of the day). Geoff loped up to me, held out his hand, and said, "I'll take that sword back, if ya like."

"I'm sorry," I said in a bewildered tone, "I seemed to have misplaced it! I think I set it down, then we were pushing the serpent overboard, and…"

Geoff laughed. "You're a goose, Pippin. It's in your hand."

I looked down with a doubtful "What?" and paused, something like dread seeping into the pit of my stomach.

The sword was in my hand, like it had been there all along. And I know for certain that it had _not _been_. _

I wordlessly handed it back to Geoff.

"What's the face for, little one?" Geoff asked, his bright smile unusually dim.

"This was not in my hand before," I said.

"But it was! I saw it and came right over to claim it."

"But it was gone! I looked everywhere for it," I said vehemently.

"I don't understand," Geoff blinked.

"Neither do I," I said strangely, wiping my palms on my pants and backing away. "Um—I need to go see if Tusk needs help."

Geoff gave me a perplexed smile. "You won't have some rum?"

"No indeed!" I tried to tease. "I am not of legal drinking age where _I'm _from." I turned away quickly so that he would not see the look of fear that, I'm sure, was marching in petulant protest across my face. I didn't even want to think that _it _had just occurred—I didn't want to admit a possibility. I couldn't even say the word.

I walked stiffly into the kitchen. Tusk was carefully pouring the rum into wooden cups from a dark brown bottle. "Want to help me?" he asked cheerfully when I walked in.

"Sure," I said, hoisting myself on top of the table, crossing my legs, and holding my hand out for a bottle. "Tusk?"

"Yes?" he handed me the bottle and a wooden cup.

I poured. "If we were to have a conversation, and then suddenly, time went backwards and it was like it never occurred…"

"That's pretty ludicrous," Tusk added it to a small wooden tray with sidings them kept the cups from falling all over.

"But if it happened, and I told you it happened, because I remembered it and you didn't, would you believe me?"

Tusk glanced at me and shifted his large belly around so that he sat across from me on the other table. "I suppose so! I mean, why not?"

"That's good," I said, pouring a second cup, and handing it to him.

He added it to the tray. "Why do ya ask?"

"Because it might happen," I shrugged. "It happened before—I mean, in Narnia. When Caspian was just a prince, trying to get back the kingdom."

"Ah!" Tusk nodded knowingly. "Sounds like a land problem, Pippin. You ain't going t' run into any of that here, I think."

"That'd be relieving, except I have," I sighed.

Tusk slid off the table and took the now-full tray in his hands. "I'm takin' this to the men. You don't want any?"

"No. No thank-you, I mean."

Tusk stepped out of the galley, and all the sailors let out a husky cheer. Baron proposed a toast to Eustace and Reepicheep, and even Rhince and Rynelf whooped along with them, whereas they'd usually disagree about the valor of a young boy and a mouse.

_What causes these things?_ I wondered helplessly. _We were doing so well. If there was ever a time to give me a hint or a sign, Aslan, it would be now._

I couldn't risk something happening to the crew. It was one thing if ropes just tangled themselves and swords had a tendency to reappear, but I could never forget the way I was dragged by an invisible foe (very paranormal activity-ish, now that I think about it) into Miraz's camp, or the way the gates slammed shut behind me—trapping me in Miraz's courtyard. I would never forget the coldness of lying on the stone plaza, praying I wouldn't get shot, while all around me the Narnians lay dead. _Those _sorts of things were not to be trifled with. They only seemed to happen to me, but would it put others in danger?

Did it have something to do with my lack of communication with Aslan?

…

I did not feel like facing Edmund and Lucy. I didn't want to tell them of the latest development. I still couldn't bring myself to say it. After all—nothing bad had happened—yet! Why not put a cheerful face on it? And hope it goes away?

So I said goodnight early, and decided to have an evening with the nightcrawlers. By midafternoon I was deeply enthralled in a book, and finally dozed off sometime after the dinner call. When I woke up, it was pitch black out, and Lucy was sound asleep on the other side of the bed.

I crawled out, used the chamber pot (I'm sure you desperately wanted to know that!), put on one of the newer jackets from our little slavery fiasco, and went out onto the deck.

"Look who has joined us!" Zacharias announced with a kind smile. "And how do you fare, Pippin?"

"Fairly well," I replied.

I went up to the helm and sat down with Herring, who was calmly giving Olan a list of directions. When he finished, he gave me a grim smile. "I suppose Olan shall have to teach you to use the helm."

"He will?" I squeaked.

"If that's what you'd like," Herring said. "Olan must have something better to do than what he _usually _graces us with while he is working."

"I thought you liked my singing!" Olan exclaimed loudly. "Alas, do not answer! I cannot be dampened by everyone's poor taste in classical tunes. Come on, girlie, stand beside me and I shall attempt to give you everything worth knowing about helms." He said this slightly sarcastically, but in good-natured fun. Herring nodded at us both and went down the steps, shouting something up at Persus and Midge.

"How much do you know about helms?" Olan asked excitedly.

I burst out laughing. "Other than you steer with it and it looks like a wagon wheel, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Then you are but an infant in your helmsman education! But do not let your inexperience discourage you, we shall merely start at the beginning!"

It seemed everything he said reminded me of Thor and ended in an exclamation point.

…

Nothing happened out of the ordinary for the next two days, and I relaxed.

Maybe it was just one of those things—like when you lose your phone, and while you desperately search for it, your friend on the line says, 'would that be the phone you're talking to me with right now?' Stranger things have happened. That was becoming my life motto.

One afternoon, Lucy and I helped Tusk in the kitchen, creating a cracker-like bread and making soup.

Something made a chirping sound. I looked up, but no one else noticed.

"Did you hear that?" I asked excitedly.

"Hear what?" asked Lucy.

"I just heard a bird singing," I said. "We must be near land!"

"Even with this fine sailing weather, I _do _look forward to land again," Lucy said whimsically. "No one ever really feels quite the same about the sea after a storm like we had."

_Ree! Ree! _The birdsong continued.

"You don't hear that?"

"No…"

"Be right back," I said. I left the kitchen and peered out the door, and stepped onto the galley deck. The sun was shining in brilliant gold and white, and a stiff wind was blowing. The sky was the most bright of blues, and white puffy clouds dotted in a pattern not unlike Andy's wallpaper. I was glad for my coat—because while it was glorious looking, the wind chilled everything else.

I didn't see a bird. But I could hear it again, chirruping and squeaking. It seemed to be coming from down in the hold.

_Odd, _I thought. I stepped down into the hatch and held onto the railing, going down the steps into the keel. The wind was so fine that the oars were left unused and pulled in, and slanted rays of sun pierced the dust motes from the grating above. I tried to be quiet, since several hammocks hung both behind me, and near the far end, where the nightcrawlers were snoring.

There was a flutter nearby.

"Here birdy," I said sweetly. I whistled, and something whistled back.

I stepped under the grating of the hatch above, and for a moment, the sunlight blinded me. When I moved into the shadows on the other side, these shadows were far darker than I thought they should have been.

I blinked a few times, pausing in the middle of the ship. The ship was not rocking as much as it used to, in fact, it wasn't moving at all. Everything in front of me was pitch black—too dark for anything to be seen.

Of course I thought that was weird, but perhaps a storm was moving in. Light changes fast when you're on the water.

So I turned back to the place where shafts of sunlight fell through, but the sunlight was wobbling. It was dappled now, like green light through the leaves of a tree canopy.

Then I realized—that's what it was.

It was if the Dawn Treader had simply melted away in the play of light and shadow, and I stood on dirt ground, and above, the branches swayed in the wind.

The sunny place before me was not from above deck, it was an opening between the trees, dark and scrubby-looking.

"Impossible!" I said in horror, walking towards the opening.

I stepped out from between the small, unassuming trees, and looked out onto a beach. A beach as unfamiliar as an undiscovered country.

"No… no no no…" I cried, looking around wildly. "This isn't happening! I can't be alone… not alone…"

I began to run down the beach, spinning in circles, looking around and trying to get a grip on my sudden, disturbingly new surroundings.

There was a bay before me, dark green and lapping away at the wet, brown sands. I turned and looked behind me—there was trees, streams coming down into the waters, and the whole of the small island built up to a rocky summit. There was something different about the climate—it was not cold, but everything was wet and sodden. The mountain looked like the hills in Nevada. All the trees were not very tall, and there was only a cry of seagulls, and the song of a bird that had led me to something terrible.

"Hello?" I called hesitantly. I already knew, the way an instinct goes, that I was probably the only one on this island. And I had no idea which one it was. What if it was an island in the book that they never make it to? What if this was the third island of the Lone Islands we never visited—and therefore, I'd never see any of them again?

What if I had moved ahead of them in their journey, and it would be weeks before they arrived? I would probably freeze or starve to death before that happened.

There were two streams dumping out into the bay, and I went to one of them, looking down into it cautiously. There didn't seem to be anything swimming in it, or anything too brown and murky. My brother once told me if you drink directly from the stream you'll get all kinds of diseases, and it's better to dig a hole beside it, so when it fills with water from beneath, it's being filtered naturally. We'd been drinking directly from streams this whole trip, and nothing sour had come of that—Narnian lands are just different in that way, I think.

But still—I didn't want to risk anything while I was on my own.

So I dug a small hole in the rocky embankment, and it filled with muddy water pretty quickly. I drank out of there, grimacing at the taste and wishing I could drink the crystal water flowing by. I gave up on enjoying it—till I remembered that people have made tea out of pine needles. So they can't be bad for ones health, can they?

I pulled a small branch of a tree, and stripped the needles off and put them in the hole. "Maybe that'll flavor you up," I said sarcastically.

I felt like Katniss. Seriously. What now?

"Hello?" I bawled, and my hello bounced back from the mountainsides. Tears pricked at my eyes and I wiped them hatefully away, continuing onward.

I walked along the stream edge, until I grew sort of tired and annoyed. I collected sticks along the way, and of course realized there was nothing to light the fire with. I would probably freeze tonight!

Suddenly, I smelled something familiar. _Onions. _Wild onions. I have a habit of finding wild onions in random places—horse pastures, my college campus—and I wondered if that skill would ever come in handy one day.

It did.

I plunged onto my hands and knees, searching the surrounding area. I finally found the thick, green stalks coming out of the clumps of grasses. I grabbed them and pulled—and out came three small, delectable onions. I searched a little farther and found three more.

I wouldn't eat any yet—I'd wait until absolutely necessary.

I walked back down the stream towards the beach, my onions in the pocket of my coat, the sticks I had collected for no good reason in my arms. I dumped them on the edge of the trees by the beach. I shouted _hello _again for good measure, and no one halloed back, except for the echoes.

I got down on my hands and knees and began to dig out a decent portion of sand, right where the beach merged into the grass and undergrowth of the woods. That way, I had a place to sit, with thick bushes at my back, trees overhead, and a clear view of the bay ahead.

If nothing else, I had to watch for the Dawn Treader. Maybe I'd be rescued—or, I could die here. I'm just so pleased that I have so many options.

It seemed like hours had gone by, but I had no clear sense of time. I sat for a while, and when boredom set in, I got up and paced up and down the beach. It took about thirty minutes to walk from one end to the other, being crescent-shaped and hemmed by the C of the island.

I didn't want to explore the island too much. I wanted to stay visible to the bay at all times—for when my friends showed up. _If. If_ they showed up.

I went back to the stream, and drank more water, which had improved from the pines but only by a teeny tiny bit. It was still murky and sour.

Then I returned to my spot, and sat in the sand, cozying up to the tree trunk at my back and laying my coat over myself for better insulation. There were big, fallen branches from the pine trees beside me, so I leaned and grabbed them, and dragged them over to put over my body. Maybe they would hide me from any wild animals that might be around.

When the sun began to set, I ate an onion. It was horrific. It was raw, of course, and made my mouth burn and eyes water, but as I had been alone for (I estimated about six or seven hours) I was hungry and willing to put up with it.

Even after I finished the tiny onion, I continued to sob. I didn't like the dark of a strange island after nightfall, with no fire and no one. I sobbed like a little kid who was locked in a closet by an older sister. (Not that I know that from experience, of course—cough—she got in trouble for it by the way—cough). I cried and cried, as one only can when alone and there is no one around to hear you for miles. I cried myself out, till my head pounded and my face was sore.

When the sun finally slipped behind the line of the ocean, I had to bury myself under the coat and curl up. I grabbed one final branch and pulled it over my head, and to anyone walking by, they would just see a pile of tree branches with a bundle of something underneath. Then I buried my face in the wool of the coat, and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pretend I was back in my bed on the Treader.

The ocean did not lull me to sleep, and I lay awake for hours. But I was lucky not to be cold, it was warm in my spot, and the night didn't freeze over with the lack of sun.

I had to say the word now. There's no getting around it.

It was the worst _unhappening _yet.

But just when I thought the darkness would be unbearable, the moon rose. The stars were lit brilliantly—not tiny twinkles like they are in our world, but giant flickers of pink and green and white, Christmas lights dotting the Heavens. I peered out from beneath my coat to examine them more closely.

There was a constellation that looked like the shape of a Lion. I couldn't be sure, I wasn't familiar with the Narnian sky like Lucy or Edmund.

But as the shadows grew darker, it was only because the sky was brighter than ever before. The sand glittered purple, the waters reflected the orb of the moon, and the Lion stars was even clearer.

"Goodnight, Aslan," I said. A warm breeze slid across the beach, stirring up little whirls of leaves and sand.

* * *

**Next time: **_**An island cursed, and a sighting of Aslan.**_

* * *

**Question for everyone: Who wants me to put a recording of me telling the Sleeping Beauty story on my blog?**

* * *

**Reviewer Replies:**

**KoKD94123: **Wow, thank-you SO much! Just… wow! It's reviews like these that are an inspiration to _me. _It's people like you that make me WANT to write in the first place, so, thank-you! Thank-you VERY much! I am sorry to have made you cry but at the same time I am terribly pleased I made you cry! What do you like to write? Do you have a blog, by any chance?

**Jewel in the Crown: **As you saw at the beginning, I loved your suggestions, and decided to let Pippin be the one to tell the story of Sleeping Beauty to the crew—complete with the voices, of course! Thanks for the great idea!

**Faby: **Aemon is 19, and Lucy is somewhere between the ages of fifteen and eleven… I'm not really sure how old she is in the book timeline, so I'm voting for thirteen at this rate. I'm glad you find my story funny! And SHOUT OUT to Honduras! :)

**ZombieKillerLevi: **I love shouting 'No!' dramatically! It's great fun! Yes, I felt like it was about time we fleshed out Lucy's character a little. She can be super sweet and kitten like far too often, when of course we all know she's actually quite plucky and fierce, and I figured a difference of opinion might show that a little better. (Not that I planned it of course, this is all real life and this is a true story shhhhh)

**Softballgirl: **I should totally draw the kitten picture—that would be hilarious. I've been so busy lately that the only picture I've drawn in the past month is a Cosette pic from Les Miserables, but I've been wanting to draw more lately. I love that you called Robin your songbird—that makes me sad! Sad in a delightful sort of way. A good sad.

**Silimaira: **Thanks for the heads up! And I am very glad you liked Robin's song. The melody had just been stuck in my head for such a long time and I was glad to share it. My guess is: you showed turkeys at the fair?! That sounds hilariously awesome. Turkey gobbles make me laugh hysterically.

**Guest: **I have Robin's melody as an mp3 on my computer, but I don't know how to make it available for others to download. If you want to send me a private message with your email address, I could send it to you if you like?

**RoryPond: **_I LOVE YOUR PENNAME SO MUCH. LONG LIVE RORY! _(cough) okay, done fangirling. Thanks for your comment. I don't want to give away too much now, but at this rate, it doesn't seem likely that Pippin will join the events of The Silver Chair.


	18. Alone

**Dearest Readers,**

**I've edited and re-edited this chapter nearly five or six times, having finished it almost the day after I uploaded the last chapter, but I haven't been pleased with it. I've finally decided to forego my perfectionist tendency at this point and just submit it for your dining pleasure, otherwise, it may never see the light of the internet! I've fixed the end, I think, and am at last satisfied, and I hope you'll find your reading of it satisfactory too =)**

**Love, Pippin**

* * *

…

Strange Things Happen

…

* * *

Chapter 18

Alone

The night sky eventually grew stale, stars dimming and blinking out, till a rose blush began to deepen in the corner of the horizon.

I awoke far too many times to count, either by some trample in the undergrowth (Others! Others!) or weird animal sounds (though I never saw a smoke monster). Eventually, I just stayed awake.

I huddled for as long as I could, before the morning chill settled in my bones and made everything creak. The rosy sky lifted with the sun, and a north pole sort-of wind began to blow in a bank of clouds. The sunrise was completed invisibly, shrouded in a full fog that dimmed from gold to gray.

It didn't rain, but the threat of it lingered.

My branches were shoved aside, and in order to stop shivering, I answered natures call in the wood and then went for a jaunt on the beach. I jogged—plodded really—all the way down the spine of the moon-shaped sands. By the time I made it back, I was perspiring a little, removed my coat, cried over an onion, and then drank a trough's weight in water. And when those tasks were complete, I felt the void of my loneliness open up again. After sleeping, eating, drinking, and exercising—what is there to do, after all, in a world where you're the only person? I hopelessly hungry, but I didn't want to eat any more onions. They wouldn't last. _I _wouldn't last—not on the sharp taste of a vegetable with a lack of nutrition.

I decided to try following the stream farther than I did before. I walked for only twenty minutes or so before I grew afraid that the Dawn Treader would drop anchor in the bay, water at the other stream, and leave before they knew I was stranded here. That induced a panicked sprint all the way back to the beach, where I shielded my eyes and looked at the sullen grayness for signs of life.

There was nothing but seagulls. I sat with a thump, hugged my legs and rested my chin on my knees to settle in for a long watch.

...

I explored further down the beach that afternoon, looking for something to eat other than onions. The only thing I found that was slightly edible was a small, grassy bank between two trees that had some dandelions growing on it. A lot of the hippies and hipsters at my school made tea out of dandelions, so they couldn't be harmful, right?

I picked one up off the ground, grimaced, and took a bite. I hated the taste, but I ate the leaves. I had to choke them down. I couldn't bring myself to eat the flower itself, petals taste sort of slimy when it comes right down to it.

Then, I sat on a rock and sang the entire soundtrack from the Little Mermaid, taking off my shoes and flipping my feet in the water as if I was the delightfully ginger Ariel herself. Then I felt stupid for getting my feet so cold, and spent the rest of the noon-time trying to warm them up again.

Boredom and loneliness crept in so heavily that I felt like I was going to go crazy.

I sang every Disney song I knew, and then whatever other musical came to mind, until finally—during the big note at the end of _Tonight _from West Side Story—my voice cracked, sputtered, and withdrew from society. I drank more water, but remained so hoarse that I sounded like grocery sack of gravel.

_I need a sign, _I thought vaguely. _There has to be something here. _I found myself wandering down the stream anyway, despite my previous wish of wanting to watch for the ship at all times. I felt like I was watching a movie of myself now, pushing through bushes and admiring a familiar looking tree. _A hazelnut tree?_

A small, stubby hazelnut tree, where in my town, they're called _filberts _and the orchards are literally everywhere. My own home is surrounded by these orchards on all sides.

I picked a handful and took them back to the beach with me. They were hard to break open, but it freshened my breath after those horrible onions, and made up a meager but surprising dinner. I felt more annoyed than grateful—I asked for a sign. I was hoping for a sign of a sail on the horizon, a hut by the stream where a kindly islander lived, a talking donkey even. But I got food instead—which is a sign I suppose—that I may have longer yet before I die of starvation.

"Thanks, Aslan," I said in a raspy voice. "You know—I mean it. Thanks for the food. I guess it's the least you could do, without making things too easy—like—a rescue or something. It's just my luck, isn't it? Let's not play the victim game here, but let's look at previous entries. Since when has any person fallen into a fictional, magical world, and has thrown it off so much to a point that things _unhappen?_"

And without thinking anything, without even finishing my thought or trying to prompt an answer, there was a reply—

_The Pevensies were brought to Narnia for the first time to make the Hundred Year Winter unhappen. To make the witch's reign unhappen. For evil and snow to unhappen. And yet when such a thing happens to you, you panic?_

"That's not fair," I said. "They changed things for good. Unhappenings are just random weirdnesses that screw up my day."

_Maybe. But what is, after all, a fact of life? That there will always be people: many of them good, but there will always be bad too, because it is in our nature, but you cannot judge all of humanity for the sake of one evil._

"Wait—huh? I'm confusing myself…"

_Simply put, examples aside, there are both good unhappenings, and bad unhappenings, but you cannot judge all of their appearances by the negative effect they've had upon you in the past. Just as you can trust Me, forever and always, you can trust that unhappenings are not always an enemy. When your confidence is shaken and low, this is when unhappenings are the worst. _

"I believe that is a… uh… pattern, yes."

_Your confidence and low moods leave you vulnerable and open to unhappenings. When you trust yourself, you fall. Swords and leaves will fall and you'll find them back in your idle hands again. People and castle gates will fall around you, entrap you._

_They will all continue to fall until you learn that—when you put your trust in ME, __**I do not fall**__. Have you not heard of a Lion's strength? Now get up! _

I woke up, lying on the sand, a tiny filbert shell clenched in my hand and tears running down my cheeks. I sat up quickly, blinking hazily. I was dreaming—wasn't I? Those weren't lion-prints leading away into the surf, were they?

I was dreaming. I blinked again, waking up fully. I sat up a second time—had I not already sat up?—and gazed out across the waters, the waters brewing with dark gray churnings and sky heavy with rainclouds.

It began to rain steadily. The ocean stirred in deep gray and green hues, till I felt uncomfortable being too close. I went back into the trees, looking for a way to shelter myself from the storm.

I suddenly wished for Shade—a warm, loyal tiger—to cuddle up beside, but as soon as I thought it, something like guilt stole over me. He's resting in peace, of course, but why should I wish for a tiger when I have a Lion?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, standing under a small branch and getting soaked with rain anyway. "I'll try to do better."

That's all he asks for, I think.

...

I found a very large, uprooted stump. It was very old, and lots of small green plants and moss had grown up over it. Once upon a time, this island must have been home to very large trees, but hard winds must have whittled them down to scrubs. Now, there were only pathetic trees to speak of, and the skeletal remains of the forestry kings. I tried to cuddle up behind it, out of the dampness. It was cold and wet anyway, and I was afraid grubs or worms would crawl into my clothes. Shelter or no, I hate creepy crawlies.

The rain drove down in a harsh pelting, and the wind lashed at the treetops and across the grasses. The island seemed to shake in it. By the time it began to dissipate, I was soaking wet anyhow. I should have just enjoyed a walk, or at least thought ahead and tried to set up something to catch the fresh rainwater.

Fortunately, I'd seen the movie First Knight often enough to know the big leaves in the bushes catch water, and you can pour them like pitchers. So I drank up all the leaves I could find, and then had more filberts. They didn't taste good any more, but I wasn't feeling picky.

Wet and shivering, I went out onto the beach, and dug my hole deeper. It was nearly three feet deep on one end, and got shallower as the hole continued. Very wedge-shaped and pretty pointless, except now, my entire upper-body had shelter from the wind. Putting the branches over the top was like having a canopy to keep me hidden from the watchful eyes of the night. A cave to feel secure, if not happy, in.

I did not watch the sun set.

...

Sometime after midnight, I jolted out of a dream-riddled sleep. I shook myself awake and popped out of my hidey-hole, blinking to adjust to the moonlight and wondering what woke me up.

There was a shadow in the water. It looked to me like a ship in the bay, but in the night it was just a black shape, perhaps imagined by my sleepiness. When I held out a hand in front of me, it was only the size of my thumbnail. If it was real—it was too far to swim to or signal somehow. If it was the Treader—I wouldn't think the nightcrawlers could hear me call for help.

But that didn't stop me from trying. I was beginning to really regret spending most of yesterday as a karaoke party, as my cry for help was sadly small and rusty. I jumped up and down on the beach, waved my arms around, hollered and screamed, but the small ship-shape never changed position, and even a few tiny flickers of torchlight did nothing to illuminate the scene.

I screamed for them to notice me till there was no sound coming from my mouth at all. I finally had to sit down and give up and wait till morning, curling up in the hole, pulling the branches back over. I felt loneliness crush me like never before.

…

Daylight streamed through the piney branches. I thrust my head out of the hole and shoved them aside, looking wildly towards the horizon. I was wondering if it had all been a dream, but—no. _Real._

The _Dawn Treader_ was at a pause on the water, a gold and burgundy sparkle on the wide mouth of the bay. It was a very welcome sight indeed.

_I'm saved, I'm saved, I'm saved, _I thought joyfully. Cynicism added, _Not yet! You're going to have to get there first! _I got out the hole quickly, feeling hunger and another sort of emptiness take over my mind. I was lightheaded and swaying as I stood.

Why? _Why now? _I thought with annoyance. _Why am I so dizzy? I haven't been starving—I'm not dehydrated… _Then I remembered—oh, yeah, _me. _A _month _ago probably would have been a good time to explain hypoglycemia to Tusk. Without enough sugar, I was dooming myself to a spectacular faint that film noir starlets would have envied. _I will not faint, _I thought angrily. _Only Mary Sues faint! I won't do it! Even if—ooh! A butterfly! _

All I needed was a decent meal, and we could save ourselves from an ABC medical drama.

But first I looked to the horizon. The Treader looked so small last night, but I could see details on it now. The anchor had been dropped, which meant they probably planned to bring the longboat ashore—

A glance to the left made me realize they already _had. _

The longboat was about fifty feet away from me, drawn up onto shore, without occupants. My own jog-prints had been washed away by the tide and rain, and no one would be able to tell I was here. They must not have been talking very much when they got to the island, otherwise, I might have heard them and rushed out to greet them.

_Why must I be so good at hiding? _I thought, annoyed with myself. I often won games of hide and seek, but it is quite a hindrance when one _wants _to be found. But it meant they were _on my island_. Perhaps within shouting distance. Relief filled my heart, giving me chest pains and a sudden desire for a real breakfast.

I suddenly had Tiny Tim's _Tip Toe Through the Tulips _stuck in my head as I trudged decidedly across the beach towards the longboat. When I reached it, I followed the fresh foot-prints up towards the trees.

They were not so far ahead as I thought. I caught sight of Lucy's reddish hair as she disappeared behind tall bushes. Through the lace of the branches, I could see them following my stream. Caspian, Eustace, Lucy, and Edmund. Just the four I would have wanted to be reunited with. After my solitude, I could deal a little longer without Aemon's sarcasm or Drinian's worry. Then I spotted Reepicheep—all right, five for the reunion.

"Hey!" I squeaked, voiceless. No response. "_HEY!_" I tried, louder and raspier, breaking into a trot towards the trees. Unsure reactions from all—Lucy looked around confusedly. Reepicheep drew his sword. Caspian stopped walking and held up a hand, and if he hadn't run right into him, Eustace would have frozen too. Edmund turned and looked back towards the longboat.

"Pip_pin!_" He exclaimed, nearly knocking Reepicheep over in his rush. I ran up to him and didn't hesitate in throwing my arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around my middle and almost lifted me off my feet. "Where've you been?" Edmund demanded, his hug practically crushing me. "How? HOW did you? What did you do?!"

A second pair of arms went around my waist, and I kept one arm around Edmund, and put the other around Lucy, and the three of us hugged like it was our last day together. Almost like family.

"Blimey, am I glad to see you," Edmund said, finally pulling back a little, keeping one arm around my shoulders. The three of us would have made quite a convincing sports team huddle. "Are you all right? Are you hurt? You're not? Did you have a fall? You're all—well, sandy."

"We thought you fell overboard," Lucy said, almost choking up. "But we didn't know how—or when—it happened—we searched the whole ship for hours."

"I can't believe it!" said Caspian's voice. "I –I am _so _glad to see you. We thought you had drowned somehow. What are you doing here?"

"I hardly know!" I coughed. "I'm just… so happy… you guys came here."

"I am terribly pleased to see you alive and well, Miss Pippin," Reepicheep announced. "But the how and why you are still alive can wait, I think. You must have had a rough three days, I imagine?"

"Fairly," I shrugged.

"You can tell us all about them when you're on board and have had a proper meal and a change of clothes," Caspian promised kindly, finally approaching and borrowing my hand for a good wringing handshake. I had to detach from my Pevensies in order to comply. "I think tea is in order too. You're a mite crowish."

I could see the old Caspian, the one who didn't really feel the need to act too kingly. The one that asked me to be the tourney date and flirted with me while I drew his picture. It had been awhile since I had seen that Caspian—but I had missed him. Everything had been 'duty' for him lately, but his relief at my appearance betrayed some of his warmth returned.

"Crowish? I should think so, two nights as a castaway," Eustace said with feeling. "It's a wonder we didn't find your bones. You've every right to be as ill as you please."

"Thank-you, Eustace," I said, trying not to laugh at how peevish his kind words sounded. We had to give him credit for trying—it was a long road to change life-long habits of snobbery. "I'm feeling—all right. I'm hungry, tired, cold and dirty…"

"We should take you back to the ship," Caspian stated. "Exploration can certainly wait… you'll want something to eat…"

"I don't mind waiting if you want to explore a little," I said hastily. I had already added some kinks to the adventure; I didn't want to spoil anything important in the plot by changing events drastically. What if they decided not to explore, and missed something important? I still didn't know which island I was on. "I didn't starve completely. I dug up onions at the stream and ate off a tree."

"Are you sure…?" Caspian said, unsure. "You've been on your own for two nights and…"

"Let's not put your plans on halt just yet," I said, with a glance at Lucy. "I don't want to _alter _anything." _Alter the future, alter the plot, alter their world on accident…_

Lucy understood what I meant better, as I hoped she would. "Might as well make it one trip," she said. "Just a quick look around, after all, that's what we promised Drinian. It only means a few extra minutes."

"You could wait in the longboat, if you are weary," Caspian said, still not thoroughly convinced that it wouldn't be a stain on his ability to be a gentleman.

"I'm not letting any of you out of my sight," I joked, "That's what got me into this mess. I'll just waddle along with you. If I faint from hunger, Reepicheep can carry me."

Eustace snorted with laughter, only to realize that Reepicheep was nodding with a seriousness that indicated he thought it was possible to do so.

"Do you… feel like fainting?" Caspian asked.

"Not yet," I said, my mouth twitching with a smile. Edmund and Lucy laughed—while they never understood my sense of humor as much, they were so relieved to find me alive, that I could have pointed at a bird and they would have found it hysterical.

Caspian nodded with a confused, albeit polite smile. "Well, then—we'll go this way, I suppose, but _only _for a few minutes. Drat the mouse for asking your story to wait."

"I guess it'll save my voice the trouble of telling the story a hundred times, better to have it over with all at once," I said.

We set forth, walked alongside the stream under the shade of the trees. The shadows felt cool and a little refreshing compared to the harsh, wind-chapped essence of sleeping on sand all night.

"So—can you give us a hint about what happened?" Edmund asked. "How'd you get here?"

"Oh, I think you mean what unhappened," I replied with a frown, recalling a weird conversation I had had—supposedly—in my head, but with another party as well. Was Aslan speaking to me—or had I begun to crack in the strain of being alone?

"Oh, god, no, not again," Edmund hissed. "Those weren't just pesky things—those were dangerous."

"A what?" Caspian interjected.

"Isn't that the thing you said wasn't happening lately?" Eustace replied doubtfully. "Or—unhappening?"

"A what?" Caspian repeated.

"I think it'll have to wait," Lucy said slowly. "I warrant that requires a bit of explanation too."

Just then, we passed by the hole I dug in the ground for water with the pine branch stuffed into it. Caspian gave it peculiar glance, but didn't say anything about it. Of course seeing it from their perspective, I guess it all seemed sort of silly. Then we passed by the filbert tree.

"Say hello to breakfast, lunch, and dinner," I said dryly.

"You lived off those?" Caspian said.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," I replied. "Um—I can't even imagine what would have happened if that wasn't there. I probably would have been lying on the beach in a stupor."

The steady walk became an incline, and the stream fell beside us in lopsided rivulets over rocks—not quite waterfalls, but a staircase of water.

"Even if you aren't lying on the beach, you're still in a bit of a stupor," Ed pointed out. "You sure you're…"

"Don't smother me, Edmund! I'm not made of porcelain! I'm just tired and hungry… and this is turning into quite a hike…"

The ground was growing steeper, and just when I thought maybe I'd turn back and forget the whole thing, it leveled out and we came to the edge of the woods. We had come to the top of a small hill, one that was only steep for thirty feet or so. To my mind, it reminded me of the hill at the end of the Fellowship of the Ring, when all the Uruk Hai are running all over it and searching for the Halflings, but instead of going down to the shore, we were going up to it.

"Why don't you have a seat," Caspian said uncomfortably. "We should have gone right back to the ship. But you can sit here, and we'll have a drink at the—lake."

"Lake?" we all repeated simultaneously. Caspian reached the edge of the woods first. I detached from his arm and let him lead the way into a clearing. The clearing was a soft meadow, of heather and brown grasses, in a tiny bowl of a valley. A wall of trees sat behind us, and the stream ran alongside the meadow and connected to a deep lake of dark water. The sun couldn't really shine down into the valley and make it past the tall crags and rocks, giving it a twilight shadow despite the hour. There didn't seem to be anything on the opposite shore except for trees before a backdrop of cliff-faces.

"We shan't try to go across," Caspian said matter-of-factly. I sat down on a rock near the grassy edge of the lake. He looked at me. "We'll just catch our breath after the walk. And go right back."

"It wasn't much of a walk," Lucy declared happily, with all the energy that a girl her age often possesses unreservedly. But she took Caspian's advice, and everyone sat down on the soft heather, giving contented little sighs, except Edmund. He sat down for hardly a second before he yelped and jumped to his feet again.

"They go for some sharp stones on this island!" he exclaimed, rubbing the backs of his legs. "Where is THAT wretched thing?" He bent down and began to pull at tufts of heather. "It's—look at this! It's not a stone. It's a _sword."_

From beneath the tall grass, he lifted first a hilt, and then a rusty blade, of what would-have-been a very grand old sword. "By jove," he said, "It's a whole sword—well, what the rust has left of it, anyway."

"It's a Narnian sword," Caspian realized, jumping to his feet.

"I'm sitting on something too!" Lucy squeaked, following suit. She brushed aside the grasses she sat on to reveal something gray and clinky. She lifted out what was left of a chain mail shirt.

"I can't pass this up," I said, beginning to crawl around and look for myself. Eustace and Reepicheep did the same. I found a place where the grass was dead almost down to nothing, and in the light crumbling dirt, I found a few small coins. "What are these?" I asked.

"These are Narnian!" Lucy said upon closer examination. "Lions and Trees! Lions are—well, I mean, it's different here, but worth perhaps five pounds by England's currency, Trees are worth half that. You'd find these in Beaversdam on market day."

"It's like a little taste of home," Edmund beamed. "Reminds me of the woodland schools and their tents at the market—selling honey and art projects to their parents and relatives…" then he sobered, the memories bittersweet at this point, knowing he wasn't going to experience any of that on this trip. "What did you find, Eus?"

"A helmet, and what's left of a broken spear," Eustace said solemnly. "You, Reepicheep?"

"A dagger!" Reepicheep said, holding it aloft. It was like a thick broadsword for the Mouse, and he swung it about, testing its weight.

"It seems this is all that is left of one of our seven Lords," Edmund pointed out.

"Just what I was thinking," Caspian said. "I wonder which it was. But there's nothing on the dagger to show. And I wonder how he might have died."

"Or how are we to avenge him," Reepicheep said.

"There's something fishy about this," Edmund said sternly, his brows knotted in concentration. "He can't have been killed in a fight."

"Why not?" Caspian asked.

"No bones! An enemy might take the armor and leave the body, but take the body and leave the armor?"

"Perhaps a wild animal killed him," Lucy said sorrowfully.

"A clever animal it would have to be," Edmund said, "To be able to remove the mail shirt?"

"A dragon?" Caspian pursued.

"A dragon couldn't do that," Eustace grinned. "I ought to know."

"Then what's it to be, Sherlock Holmes?" I asked. "He took off the mail shirt and died without it on. Perhaps it got hot out and his bones are out in a shady place." I shrugged. "Maybe he starved to death because the nut tree wasn't in season! Maybe he died of boredom!"

"We should go," Lucy said uncomfortably. "All this talk of bones—I don't like it. And Pippin needs supper."

"Pippin needs supper," I agreed. I was hazy about this scene in the book. I wasn't sure which dead Lord we found, or how he died. I was content not to know.

Caspian nodded and stepped towards the edge of the lake, where dark, sparkling waters there dumped gallons of crisp, merrily dancing waters through the stream down to the beach. It's a wonder it never runs out…

"Look!" he said suddenly. We went towards the edge to look—and there, down in the green depths, was a life-size, golden statue of a man in a diving formation.

I backed up instantly. I realized what this was. I couldn't be sure—I thought maybe it was an island that wasn't described. Maybe we'd get captured by little invisible large-footed creatures. Maybe it was like—the island of nightmares or something? There were too many to remember in the book, and I didn't know them all. But the ignorance in this case could have meant death—my death—from the inside out.

"That's the most beautiful statue I've ever seen," Lucy breathed.

Caspian whistled. "Well that was worth coming up here to see—a sunken golden treasure—a singular piece of art, no less. Can we get it out?"

"We can dive for it, Sire!" Reepicheep suggested. No one noticed as I backed away from the water and sat heavily upon the ground, feeling really dizzy now. This was utter nonsense. I wanted no part in it!

"No point," Edmund disagreed, "If it's really solid gold, it'd be far too heavy to lift. And the pool is about fifteen feet deep if it's an inch—let's measure it! Eustace, hand me that spear you found, would you? Don't let me fall in, Caspian…"

Caspian grinned and took Edmund's hand and elbow, as Edmund leaned far over the water and tried to lower the spear shaft straight down. I didn't speak, I couldn't say anything, my lips felt cemented shut. I was afraid that if I spoke, I'd alter _something—_concentration, Caspian's grip—and Edmund would plunge into the golden recesses of the condemned waters.

"It's just the lighting," Lucy said, a little disappointedly. "The spear is the same color now."

Suddenly Edmund gave a cry and dropped the spear right in, and Caspian jerked him back to shore. Colorful water, huh?

"What's wrong?" Eustace and Lucy declared in unison.

"The spear was so heavy all of a sudden—I dropped it—I don't know what happened," Edmund panted. Then he looked down, and tried to move his feet, without much avail. "Get back," he said urgently. "Everyone! Get back from the water! NOW!"

Even Caspian obeyed without protest. Everyone took a good step or two back from the edge. Edmund pointed down at his boots. "Look that that!" he whispered. "Look what has happened to the water droplets from the spear-splash!"

"They look a bit yellow," Eustace offered dimly.

"They're gold! Solid gold!" Reepicheep realized.

"The leather has pulled away from it already," Edmund said.

"By the Lion's mane…" whispered Caspian. "You don't mean?"

"Yes, I do," Edmund backed even further from the edge, his boots very heavy, "The water turns things into gold—solid gold. First the spear, then the toe-caps, and the fellow at the bottom—well, I guess we know what happened to him."

"Then it isn't a statue after all," Lucy said, broken hearted. "Poor thing…"

"He must have undressed for a swim and…"

"Don't say any more!" Lucy shook her head. "It's horrible!"

Caspian pulled a bundle of heather from the ground, and carefully crawled to the water's edge, and dipped it in. At our incredulous faces, he said defensively, "Might as well _test _it to be sure." Out of the water, he pulled a perfectly golden spray of heather, soft and shining.

"You're awfully quiet," Eustace said to me, quite suddenly.

As I was observing everything, I suddenly began fantasizing about a hamburger and milkshake at a classy 50s diner. My stomach growled to answer. My head felt too heavy to keep upright anymore, much like the time I had an ear infection that led to such dizziness I stumbled around my apartment and hit walls and doors—with my face. The end.

"You know," Caspian said, holding onto the heather with both hands, as it had grown solid and heavy. His face was strangely flushed. "The King who owned this island would be the richest in all the known lands." He looked at the lake, a gleam in his eye. "I hereby lay claim to this island forever as Narnian possession. Its name shall be Goldwater Island and I shall hold all of you to its secret—you shouldn't tell anyone—not even Drinian."

"Sire," I exploded. "It's enchanting you!"

"No one must know of this," continued Caspian, undaunted. "Under pain of death!" His threat fell sort of flat.

"Death!" repeated Eustace, thinking it a rather strict punishment.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Edmund's voice increased to a shout. "I'm no subject of yours. I am one of the four monarchs and you are under allegiance to High King Peter, my royal brother…"

"Edmund!" I exclaimed. "Really!" _One two three four I declare a thumb war…_

"So it has come to that, has it, _King _Edmund?" Caspian mocked, drawing his sword.

"I guess it has!" Edmund drew his sword, but before they came to blows, Lucy jumped between them and held out her hands.

"Stop it—stop it! Can't you hear yourselves? You boys are acting worse that bullies—stupid and pompous and—oh!" Lucy's gasp stopped them up short, far more than her accusations may have. They both lowered their swords and followed her gaze.

We all looked where Lucy pointed, across the lake, on the opposite shore. On the hill leading up from the pebbly shore to the cliff sides, there was a great Lion.

He shone gold in the sunlight—a soft, tawny gold, his magnificent mane making him appear as tall as a horse. He was staring right at us, with sadness in his eyes. He walked with a weighty gait and—suddenly, he wasn't there any more.

Caspian looked at the sword in his hand. "What the?" he began, hazily. "Why am I—I'm afraid…" he looked at Edmund, who was confusedly sheathing his sword at his belt. "What were we talking about? Have I been making rather an ass of myself?" he asked, honestly.

"Yes!" I snapped. "You both were!"

"Sire, this place has a curse upon it," Reepicheep said in a stern voice. Only Caspian, Edmund, and Lucy seemed to have a fuzzy memory of what occurred. Eustace, Reepicheep, and I were still recovering from the shock of seeing Caspian and Edmund nearly beat each other up over the gold.

"Let us go back on board _at once. _Pippin needs food and care, and we've lingered far too long. If I may—first—have the privilege of naming this place, I should call it Deathwater."

"That strikes me as a good name, Reepicheep," Caspian said, bright and smiling again. "Though I can't really recall why…"

Eustace and I looked at each other with dismay, but only Reepicheep didn't seem concerned by their lack of memory. Deathwater, indeed.

If I drank from the stream, my insides would have shriveled and molded into molten gold, spreading from mouth to chin, lungs and hands and feet—

Because I decided to drink from a hole in the ground instead, I was saved from being cursed into a death crueler than most. They might have stopped by and found a golden carving of me instead of the real, live me.

"I drank water from the hole next to the stream," I said slowly. "If I had even touched it…"

Reepicheep began to recite a proverb. "_There are little miracles that occur every day to keep us on the path of life. Some miracles more obvious than others. _We may have only just seen the Lion, but he was with you for the past few days you were not with us. Come on. Let us depart."

No one seemed to mind Reepicheep taking charge of the return expedition.

My hands were starting to shake, and all I could think about was food and sleep, even to the point of not _wanting _to eat because it would be too tiring. I can't be the only one who has been so out of it, that you lay your head on the table after a long day at work and try to eat horizontally? Just me? All right…

I didn't get up from my seat. I felt like the world could at least cease its rocking back and forth before I fell over. I held my head in my hands and let out an annoyed sound.

"Pippin?"

"I'm dizzy." I felt like I stepped off one of those playground evils that spin as fast as the playground bullies make them spin when you're clinging on for dear life.

"Let's go, then."

Standing was a joke, but sleeping on the heather, on the other hand, seemed tempting. Beautifully tempting.

Edmund knelt beside me and pulled my arms over his shoulders, so when standing he was giving me a piggy-back ride. I was too exhausted to protest. I clasped my hands together and laid my chin on his shoulder. _Has anyone figured out why the heck they call these piggy back rides? I find it very unpoetic and terribly un-clever. No one voluntarily rides pigs unless promised money or working at a rodeo._

Reepicheep and Eustace talked in exaggerated, heightened voices, trying to keep the awkwardness of the enchantment at bay. Caspian, Lucy, and Edmund were all very quiet, sometimes only nodding with smiles at something the Mouse said. They seemed to have little to no memory of what happened, only that the water was terribly dangerous, and if it weren't for the Lion sighting, something bad _might _have occurred, and 'I guess we found one of the Lords but we don't know how he perished'.

"All right then, Pippin?" asked Edmund.

"I'm fading," I responded vaguely.

"Don't worry, Pippin, we'll be home soon," Lucy said, exchanging a glance with Caspian.

"Okay," I mumbled.

"We shall fix you some supper," Caspian promised yet again.

"I'll need something with sugar in it," I said. "I might lose consciousness if I don't have… I don't know… fruit or something."

"This isn't because of—walking up that hill, is it?" Caspian asked. "I feel terrible now, I really ought to of…"

"Ha… no…" I snickered. "Hypoglycemia is a thing I should have mentioned to Tusk a long time ago. Usually it's not a problem… but a bad diet, or uh, no diet at all, usually makes it resurface. Low sugar—like, fructose—no wait, that's like the syrup."

"I think you mean glucose," Edmund corrected.

I hummed a reply and stopped working so hard to keep my eyes open. They were alarmed at my quick descent from talkative and mobile to lethargic, so I assume the return to the Treader was executed with haste.

…

"There y' are, girl! Rise an' shine."

Tusk was handing me a dried fruit, and I ate it unexcitedly. It was chewy and hard to get down, but three or four bites later, I blinked and realized that I had little to no memory of boarding the longboat or returning to the Treader.

I was back on board, however. Home sweet home. Lain on top of the bed in our cabin in the same state I had been in before, only this time, Tusk was sitting at my bedside and Aemon sat at the foot, patting my leg uncertainly.

"Better?" Tusk asked. "Master Edmund said y' needed glucose or somethin' like fruit. We ain't got any glucose or whatever that is, so we settled for fruit. Alright?"

I felt bad for correcting him, but what harm could it go? He _is _the apothecary. "Glucose," I said, still in a bit of a fog, "Is like… sugar. I think. I'm not very scientific. There's sugar—like, in blood—and my number is lower than most people. I failed biology in college. Literally. Failed. I actually don't know how to say it, except what I'm taught to say, and that's 'My blood-sugar is dropping' and then I eat something healthy. It's been like that since I was a kid. I do feel better now. Also, I B plussed Physics. Just so you know. I'm not completely unintelligent."

"I'll hafta get ya to write that one down for me," Tusk nodded. "But you do feel better?"

"Yeah."

He handed me a wooden cup. "Then have some water! And we have some wafers, too, little ones. But too much too quickly and you'll just vomit it all back. You can have soup tonight."

"Whatever you say, Tusk. I guess I'm your patient. Though I much prefer being your assistant."

"Which is _my _job," Aemon reminded me. "You've been after it since your first day here."

"I'm the kitchen assistant, you're the apothecary assistant," I corrected. "There's a difference!"

"Let me get you some more water," Tusk said, taking back the empty cup I had drained way too quickly. "I'll be back."

The door shut behind him, and Aemon scooted closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. "Um—what's up?"

"Did you fall overboard?" Aemon demanded.

"No," I assured quickly. "There's weird magic—around me—it happened the last time, and I hoped it would never happen again—but it's magic. Magic that whisked me out of the Treader and onto an Island. For no rhyme or reason."

"And they found you just on pure luck?"

"Don't you believe in Aslan, Aemon?"

"Well—yeah—I mean—I've never seen him. I guess I meant coincidence."

"I guess so, then."

Aemon was quiet.

"You seem angry. You're always snapping about something," I pointed out. "I can take it. Say what's on your mind."

To my surprise, Aemon's eyes were red and filling. He sighed deeply. "I thought you drowned," he said, his voice going into an uncharacteristic high that often accompanies one about to shed some major tears. "I thought you drowned, like Robin. I mean—Robin and I—Robin, Ave, and I, the three of us have always been close. Best mates. You—and me—we're not like that, exactly. We don't have the history. But when I thought you drowned, that didn't really matter. I just don't want to lose anyone like we lost Robin. You're so little, I mean, such a tiny thing. You couldn't survive if you fell overboard. That's what I kept thinking of—you, trying to swim with these short little arms. How do you do anything with them, anyway?"

I tried very hard not to laugh at the prolonged insults to my stature. "I've heard from everyone that I give the best hugs," I said, "See?" I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him teddy-bear embrace. Aemon hugged me back tightly.

"Don't ever fall overboard," he said.

"At least not without your permission," I responded. "I wouldn't dare otherwise."

...

* * *

**Next up: invisible giant rabbits?**

* * *

**Author's Update:**

**When I started this sequel-story, it was December 21****st**** 2010, two years ago, and I hadn't graduated yet nor was job searching. The Pippin of this story is 20, and now I'm 22, and trying to write from the perspective of my mind at age 20. What I find most ironic is that I wrote myself to help in the Dawn Treader's galley and help with kitchen-things and feeding the crew. Well, then I got a job at a retirement facility where I **_**work in the kitchen **_**with the cooks, Gary and Pedro, and other dishwashers, Tina and Neville. I work full-time so it makes writing difficult, and I work six days a week, so I'm sure you can guess I'm crazy exhausted all the time. To be honest I think I prefer the kitchen on the Dawn Treader, but wouldn't anyone? ;)**

**This marks the half-way point of the novel, in case you are following along with your own copy of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. So I'm going to take a guess and say we'll probably have 18 more chapters before the end. **

**One last thing: Any of my readers 'Tales of the Abyss' fans? It's an anime.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone!**

**Love, Pip**

* * *

Personal Replies

Scarlet Wounds: Third favorite? Now I'm wondering! Who are your first two favorites? And yes, I am a Trekkie. And a Jedi. I have a deep love of both Star Trek and Star Wars—grew up seeing the Star Wars special editions re-premiere in the theaters and watched Star Trek Generations on tv. =)

TheSnake'sLiones: Yes! Caspian falls in love with her in the book, so he'll fall in love with her here too.

: Clark? Do you mean my FIFF story set in Smallville? Haha! Good times! I grew quite un-addicted to Smallville and left the fandom, to be honest. But I still have a small corner of my heart set aside for all things Superman.

Penspot: Aw, of course. I'll post it on my tumblr ( .com) as soon as I've recorded it—which will be as soon as I get over this pesky cold and can speak properly!

KoKD94123: Yes, I believe we discussed it at some point, I don't really remember though to be honest! And yes, he notices my disappearance. Everyone does! Hehe. Please come back from the cliff! I like your reviews! =)

ClarinetRox88: I understand, not just the tendency, but the _need _to often speak in a loud Thor voice. This happens far more often than I like to admit.

Jewel in a Crown: Oh, no need to apologize for typos. I am always making typos! The books that were packed in my trunk are as follows: 1) _The Golden Age: a History of the Four Monarchs, 2) The Sea and What Lies Underneath, 3) Narnia's Genesis as Told By King Frank and Queen Helen: The First King and Queen of Narnia, 4) The Eastern Sea: Collections of Wisdom and Words from the Lion, overheard and recorded from Those Who Followed Him (with contributions by the Four Monarchs)_and lastly, 5) _Is Man a Myth?_

Pureangel86: I don't think we've seen the last of unhappenings!

Softballgirl: Aw, you're so sweet! I honestly can't believe someone would like my story enough to reread it, but wow. That's so great. Thank-you! Glad you're enjoying it!

Locked in a Stony Tower: I love the Science Bros so much! Robert Downey Jr. and Mark Ruffalo joked about adopting a kid and naming him Bruce Stark. How epic is that?

Lady Courage: Glad it surprised you! =)

ZombieKillerLevi: Well, poor Edsy's logical reaction was to believe that I fell overboard, but he'll have a lot more to say about unhappenings later on.

Meggie cronwall: I think if C.S. Lewis found this, he'd be shocked and possibly bemused. He encouraged fan fiction in his letters to children who asked questions about Narnia, but I doubt he'd know what to think about a 22 year old adult writing herself into the world. He'd probably wonder what terrible travesties have occurred to make me spend so much time in fiction! And I'd say, well, you're a writer. You know why. But mostly, I'd just crawl in a hole and hide in shame if he read my story. This one wouldn't be too bad, but the first story would be embarrassing, as it follows the movie and isn't really true to the book at all. I don't know what the actors would do if they read this—they'd probably think I was some psycho, but I would hope that Skandar and Georgie would want to be my best friends afterwards. Haha.


	19. Unseen

Dearest Readers,

When I started this chapter mid February, I had worked for 14 days straight, (while I usually worked six days a week) and was at the end of my mental, spiritual, and physical rope. I never saw any of my friends, got home from work every evening, ate alone, did some chores, showered, and went to bed. I had no life and was so saddened by my situation that I could barely crank out a sentence or two in this story before I became exhausted and gave up. But as I end this chapter in April, I seem to have gotten past that desolate chapter of my life. I'm living in some strange mystical world now (though it isn't Narnia... yet...) where I don't have to work weekends anymore, I've paid off my car, and I ... unfortunately... have charmed my way into the heart of my coworker. (Yes, he's attractive, and no, I'm not interested like _that, _and yes, I feel dreadful that I do not return his feelings. Moving on!) I actually have a life nowadays and with the energy, I've returned to writing my fiction with fervor.

With that little update, I hope that you all enjoy reading this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it. Plenty of friendship fluff, humor, and crisis. I had an interesting fight with my best friend (Peter, ironically) a few weeks ago, and before I knew it, _this _version of me was arguing too. But, as it is with most relationships when the two parties still love each other, things are resolved, and lessons are learned. Happy readings! Please review!

God bless

Pippin

* * *

…

…

Strange Things Happen

…

…

* * *

Chapter 19

Unseen

I felt weak and watery-limbed for a day after my accidental-marooning adventure. I slept a lot and ate a little, but by the morning of the second day I was up at the usual time, ready for work, senses sharpened in case anything went awry. I would _not _be investigating strange occurrences alone, for fear another unhappening would send me catapulting into an even greater disaster.

Caspian called a small meeting. Edmund, Lucy, and I did our best to fill Caspian, Drinian, Rhince, Rynelf, Reepicheep, and Herring in on the details of _unhappenings _and how they usually transpired. The first few stories had them chuckling in doubt (the up-falling leaf, a sword) and following (the night raid incident, getting dragged into the enemy's camp) far less amusing. When we had brought them up to speed, Herring finally cleared his throat is a disapproving manner.

"I don't like this sort of magic," he said, his worry coming across as sternness. "It's not just queer, it's unnatural to the usual laws of magic. It reminds me of what we've heard about ancient Narnia—such as the Winter-but-never-Christmas tale."

"What, spring was 'unhappening' for a hundred years?" Edmund scoffed.

"I just fear that we're dealing with something bigger than magical accidents," Herring pursued. "It sounds very bad to me. Something left over from a witch, perhaps."

"You have_ a_ point," Caspian said, "But I think the whole _point _of this meeting is to not debate the origin or the 'why' but the fact that these things do occur and we must be vigilant. It could have cost Pippin her life, on more than one occasion. And I for one don't want to lose another member of my crew."

"What would you suggest, anyhow, Herring?" Drinian asked. "Appealing to Aslan for answers? It seems he does not speak to us as of late, and I think it is something that can't be dwelt with head-on, neither do we need to send our pleas to Aslan. I may be alone in my opinion here, but instead of badgering the Lion, I think he'd want us to be patient and wait for answers as they come."

"Always deal with things head on!" cried Reepicheep.

"Like I said, I may be alone in my opinion."

"I think we're digressing," Lucy reprimanded. "The matter stands. We've told you what happens—er—unhappens—and there is probably nothing to be done about it."

"I think," I said slowly, "I have a very… um… vague memory of something on the island. I mean, I don't know, I was half-asleep when I thought I heard—Aslan? Maybe? Anyway, I think he said something about good unhappenings, and bad unhappenings, and they all cannot be judged from a very bad one. Something about low confidence leaving me more open for them to occur."

"Low confidence?" laughed Edmund. "When have you ever had low confi…" Lucy elbowed him discreetly, but Ed did not react discreetly. "Ow, what?" he protested loudly.

I shrugged. "I guess just not having confidence _in _Aslan, I suppose."

"Leaving you vulnerable to a bad magic?" Caspian inferred.

I felt as if my mind had suddenly opened up, a veil had been drawn back. "It's because I don't belong here," I said slowly. "I came from a non-magic world—not even the same world as the Pevensies…"

"You're an ALIEN?!" gasped Edmund.

"No, you ninnyhead, same world, different… time. Different fandom. You wouldn't get it." I pointed at myself. "Future," then I pointed to Edmund, "Nineteen-forties."

"Clearly this all makes sense to you two," Rynelf said dryly.

"It's not because _I _throw off this world," I said, "It's because I'm never meant to be here in the first place. It's a difficult balance. It's—it's Aslan's world. This is his creation, his country. And like you said, Herring, there are laws of magic. It's like—Aslan knit together this very world with his song, didn't he? And when I doubt him…" I cringed. "When I don't _believe _he can speak to me, I've cut him off. But you can't cut someone out of their own world without consequences. It's the same thing that would happen if I was a… disease or something."

"You're not a disease!" Lucy and Caspian exclaimed at the same time.

"Metaphor! It's a metaphor! If a disease enters a body and then shuts out the host, what do you think would happen?"

Blank stares all around.

"I don't think a medicinal metaphor will help you out with this lot," Edmund said apologetically. "But I think I get what you mean. It's a balance, like you said. If you reject the very nature you're in—nature will reject you?"

I nearly jumped out of my seat. "That's it! That's what I mean!"

"Sorry, I regret I left my circus vocabulary back in Narnia," Rynelf said, and Rhince elbowed him hard.

"So the conclusion is," Herring said, fixing me with a very intense gaze. "In order to stop any dangerous unhappenings from occurring, _you've _got to stop doubting Aslan." He turned and looked at Caspian. "And if there was ever a way to frighten a young child _out _of a good friendship with the Great Lion, that is it. One doesn't just _stop _doubting. Trust me. I know."

"We all have moments of doubts," Caspian agreed, "It doesn't seem fair to ask much of you, especially in regards to… to the Lion… which is a very personal sort of subject. I find that when it comes to Aslan, I just fall silent, and can't think of any words to say."

As if on cue, we all fell into a silent thought.

"I guess I have some things I need to work on," I said in a small voice.

"If Zacharius was included in this little meeting," Herring said dryly, "He would want to remind you that the Lion is always listening for his children's call. One does not always need a great horn to summon help—a silent whisper will do."

I stared at him, both impressed and a little shy of his wisdom.

"There is no deadline to work towards," Herring continued. "Doubt is not something with an expiration date. It is something that must be consciously let go, sometimes daily."

"And we will always be vigilant for unhappenings," Caspian said assuredly. "And Pippin," he added, in a low voice, "Don't think that for one minute that Aslan rejects you. You may not be of the world, but while you're here, you belong with us. Surely the unbalance is not a sign of Aslan's creations turning against you, I must disagree with you there. At least, I don't _believe_ so."

…

Stores were running low, but no one was speaking of it. Everyone noticed when Tusk's culinary creations shrunk in portion, and Caspian seemed grim. No one finished a meal without hungry for more, but had to be content till another small meal several hours later. It was just as Edmund feared before we left

I missed the days when everyone was cheerful and could have a laugh—it seems ever since Robin's death, a degree of seriousness had settled over the Dawn Treader. It was a constant reminder of mortality.

We didn't tell stories or sing songs around the torches in the night, and it seemed to me it was the first time of a ship-wide depression. Eventually I realized it was worry coupled with cabin fever, though that is not as solvable as it is when half the crew is made of muppets and a musical number fixes all.

One night, I asked Lucy if she felt the same. She had noticed it too, possibly even sooner than I did. We clasped hands and asked Aslan for some sort of sign, anything at all, even if it meant something as simple as the ever-serious Drinian cracking a knock-knock joke. Laughter needed to return to the crew, and we both knew it, otherwise the rest of the trip would be unbearable.

Worry and sadness comes with its own sort of price.

…

Baron and Bastian were seated on the bench, staring at the sun as it rose. The sunrise was a heated orange and backlit in gold, giving the sails the appearance of being on fire. I was seated between them, head swiveling back and forth as they argued.

"I'm telling you," Bastian said, chewing on the end of his pipe so vigorously I thought he might bite the end of it off. "The sun is bigger than it is in Narnia."

"We're not closer to the sun," Baron protested, "Tis basic knowledge of science. We'd feel hotter if we were, and we're not, so it ain't."

I glanced back at Bastian.

"Lookey here," Bastian held up a thumb to the sky. "I measure the sun with m' thumb. On Narnian shores, my thumb eclipses it, like so."

"I'm sure that helps keep you from getting tanned," Baron said sarcastically.

"But while my thumb is up, like so, the sun ain't blocked. It's bigger. It's gone from a cork-end to a soup-spoon size, from my perspective, that's what."

I looked at Baron for his comeback, but he merely sighed. "Your perspective is skewy and your eyesight is going, _that's _what."

"It sounds as if I must teach you a lesson," Bastian snarled.

"It will be an honor to defeat you in chess yet again," Baron snapped back, and the two old men slowly rose from the plank, and began to hobble angrily towards the galley. They didn't notice me when I sat down to listen to them argue, and they hadn't noticed me as they left.

I chuckled, and looked up, and Caspian strode by, deep in his own thoughts. I sighed and got up to follow. I hadn't spoken with him in a few days, even though it was a fairly small ship and difficult to avoid anybody. But Caspian had been fairly quiet—worry about the food had affected us all—but I felt the need to talk to my friend. But even deciding to do so made me feel like a bother. I didn't want my unhappening fiasco to have any lasting effect, but I did worry that I might cause more worry than necessary.

So I thought to myself, _Que Sera Sera, _and decided to pester Caspian anyhow.

Caspian was relieving Rynelf at the helm, and when I passed him, he snorted at me and shook his head.

"What?" I said, peevishly.

"Nothing, nothing," he chuckled, coming off the stair and waving me by. I stuck my tongue out at him and went up.

"Stay out of trouble," Rynelf called with a wink, and then he, too, went into the galley—where quite a few people had gathered to watch the game. It was the Treader's version of the superbowl.

"Hello, there," Caspian said amiably.

"How are you?" I said, leaning my elbows against the rail. "We haven't really talked since our little Bible study."

"Bible?"

"Spiritual… discussion," I corrected. "I wanted to see how you were. You've been worried and quiet."

"Perceptive."

"I'm not exactly a genius with reading facial cues… a blind tortoise could probably tell if you were worried or not."

"That would be a very impressive tortoise."

"Mhm," I responded. "So?"

"I am—well." Caspian hesitated, glancing at a small instrument perched on the helm before him and adjusting accordingly. "It is our last morning on this voyage, I'm afraid. I don't know how to break it to the crew without sounding like a… failure."

"Our last morning?" I exclaimed. _Sheesh, I'm pretty sure we've got loads to cover in the book. _"Because of the stores running low?"

"We have enough to make it back to somewhere where there is food—provided we do not return to Deathwater, as Reepicheep so aptly named the island where you were stranded. Just enough, though. Unless we find new land today, we must turn back or risk starvation."

"Oh," I said. "That is disappointing, but I think you'll find the crew would rather not starve. We've been successful so far, anyway. Three lords out of seven. I think some part of them never thought we'd actually discover their whereabouts."

"Or how they died."

"Just because we found two dead doesn't mean we haven't been successful. Finding out what happened to them was the main point, wasn't it? And one of them is now leader of a whole island. That's something too."

"Are you trying to say you don't think this voyage is a failure?"

"Right, exactly."

"Well, thank-you for believing so."

"I've been working on it."

"Tis more than I have done."

"You can't live the rest of your life believing that this was the moment you failed," I said heartily. "Enough people will call you a failure for just being a human, but when you've had a little success, you've got to _own _it."

Caspian smirked. "And I've yet to feel successful."

A breeze whipped by with gusto, and Klaire's voice blasted from high above.

"_Land ho! Land ho!"_

"You were saying?" I said cheekily. Caspian's head whipped up, and Klaire's arm pointed dead ahead. Caspian shaded his eyes against the glare of the sunrise, and in the frothy red shadows, there was a small glimmer of an island.

…

By lunchtime, we had neared the island and came 'round the branches and into a cool, blue bay. It was unlike the barren, cliff-faced islands we had visited thus far. Everything was green and crisp here, and the bay was so circular it almost felt artificial. We landed in a deep portion, boarded the longboats, and went ashore.

Past the sand, we were astonished to find well-kept lawns and trimmed, rectangular shrubbery. It seemed to me we had entered the yard of a well-mannered English gentleman who retired on a coastal inlet in Fiji, and had hired exceptional gardeners. In some, retrospective silence, we perused the tasteful shoreline, walking over the sand and into the short, aromatic grass. Past the beach, there were two lines of tall trees lining a narrow drive. It wasn't very long; for just past the trees we could see a gray, two-story home. We passed through the iron-wrought gates and came into a paved courtyard… one of those homes you swore you've seen at least twice on a BBC program, one of their "seven" sets that both the Doctor and Elizabeth Bennet have been seen traipsing around in.

Either way, it would have looked familiar to Edmund and Lucy, with its tidy gray walls, growing ivy, the drive that circled by the door with a small fountain and well in the middle. In fact, the pump was spewing water all by its lonesome—no one was working the handle. But other than this movement, the place was charmingly silent.

"I think it is empty," said Eustace with hesitation.

Caspian held a finger to his lips, and then pointed above our heads.

Drinian instantly put a hand on his hilt, for there was smoke coming out of the chimney of the house. Yet no one came out to greet us. _This has to be the wizards house, _I thought, smiling. _If it isn't, I'll eat my hat. If I had a hat. But seriously, if it isn't, what else could it be? _I couldn't remember any other passage in the book where they come to an island that is deathly quiet save the slosh of the water working at suspiciously animated fountain.

"Machinery! I do believe we've come to civilized country at last," Eustace said, breathing a sigh of relief. Usually this sort of statement from him would just betray his contempt for the Narnians, but the appreciative tone in his voice nowadays said just the opposite. He didn't despise the Narnian way, he was just homesick for what he was accustom to. We'd be lying if we said we weren't missing those things as well.

Suddenly, Lucy came barreling down the driveway. We hadn't even noticed she had fallen behind.

"Listen!" she said desperately. "There are people—beings—on the beach—I can't see them—but they're there—I overheard them saying they were going to cut us off from the ship—give us a fight—one of them passed right close beside me, but it was invisible—they were right in front of me—now, they're behind us!"

"Invisible enemies," Caspian repeated, "Cutting us off from the boat? This is an ugly furrow to plow."

"You've no idea what sort of creatures they were, Lu?" asked Edmund.

"How can I, if I can't see them?" Lucy said, annoyed.

"Could you tell if they were human by their footsteps?" Edmund asked. Ed always seemed to dislike creepiness, and if only Lucy would tell him they _had_ to be humans, he could get the idea of giant spiders out of his head.

"I couldn't hear 'feet', only a frightful thumping, like a mallet, and the voices…"

"I wonder," Reepicheep said, grinning at the thought of a challenge, "If they become visible when you drive a sword through them?!"

"It looks as if we shall find out—but let's get out of here," Caspian gave a worried look back to the pump. "If what you say is true, that means there is one of those gentry standing there _right now _listening to all we say."

Edmund gave an obvious shudder and began tugging Lucy back through the gates. Despite being all very brave folk, the thought of a transparent person standing there, pumping water and listening without making any remark, gave us all a cold feeling.

As we walked stiffly back down the treed driveway, everyone began a heated discussion. There were a variety of suggestions… swimming to the boat, fighting the invisible foes with swords, alerting the Treader to beach itself so that we could climb aboard, and a few other very bad ideas.

Reepicheep tugged at his whiskers and blurted, "Your Majesties all, hear me! There is no point trying to avoid an invisible enemy by skulking and creeping about—if they mean to bring us to battle, they will succeed, and I'd rather face them than be caught surprisingly by the tail!"

"I hate to say this, but I think Reep is right," Edmund said.

"You're hurting my hand," Lucy hissed.

Edmund was turning her fingers white with his grip and loosened his hold with an embarrassed shrug.

"Surely they'd see us fighting from the ship, and they'll do something," Lucy said practically.

"But wouldn't they just think we're all swinging around our swords for fun?" Edmund said gloomily.

An awkward, thoughtful silence descended upon us. We reached the end of the driveway, and before us lay the beach where—apparently—our foes awaited.

"Let's get on with it," Caspian declared resolutely. "Shake hands all around. If we must face them, then we must, and there is no use trying to delay. Arrow to your string, Lucy. If we can I'd like you to hang back—and should any of them prove to be temporarily invisible—you can have your pick of targets."

"Just try not to shoot me," I whispered.

"Swords out, everyone," Caspian commanded. "And now for it." Then, as a hopeful afterthought, he added, "Perhaps they will parley."

"Thanks to the French," I quipped quietly, awkwardly accepting the small dagger that Edmund pulled from his belt and handed to me with a serious expression. "Makers of raisins—humiliated grapes, really." Edmund snorted and unsheathed his own sword, giving it a warm-up twirl in a figure eight. _Dang, that boy looks attractive with a weapon,_ I thought. _And yes, I did just revert to the mindset of a cavewoman. STRONG MAN MAKE FIRE AND BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF NEIGHBOR! VERY HANDSOME! _

Reepicheep's whiskers twitched nervously as we stepped out onto the beach.

There were several thumps suddenly, as if the trees in the groves behind us had all decided to drop their fruits at once and gravity had caused them to roll near our feet.

"No further masters, no further now!" cried a voice from—in front of us? Near us? "We've got to talk with you—there's more'n fifty of us and we're all armed!"

Somewhere, everywhere, from all around, but there was nothing before us except sheer, smoothed sand. Everyone's knuckles were white around their weapons, but even if we were to try fighting, there was nothing to aim for.

"Hear him, hear him!" cried a chorus of voices, surrounding us in a raucous, explosive sound. "That's the Chief speakin', and always tells the truth, he does!"

"I do not see fifty warriors," Reepicheep said, coldly.

"That's right, that's right! We're invisible!" the Chief laughed.

"Keep it up, Chief, keep it up," shouted the voices all around, "You're talkin' like a book!"

"Reep, hush," warned Caspian, and then added far louder, "Invisible people—what do you want with us? What have we done to earn your enmity?"

"We want somethin' that the little girl can do f' us!" said the Chief.

"That's right, that's right!" added the voices. "That's just what we would've said!"

Lucy and I looked at each other. I was smirking; she looked terrified.

"Which little girl?" Caspian asked pointedly.

"Hey," I muttered under my breath.

"Two little ones, Chief, there are! Two!" chanted the chorus.

"The taller one!"

"That's right, the tall one! Taller! She's a bit taller! We want the tall one!"

I quickly compared myself to Lucy—yep. She was taller. But I shouldn't have been surprised, everyone always was taller.

"Little girl?" Reepicheep repeated. "This _lady_ is _a Queen. _She deserves respect!"

"We don't know much 'bout Queens," said the Chief, "But we want somethin' she can do!"

"No more'n we do! No more'n we do!" the chorus persisted. I was about ready to start running around with my fist out and damage as many mouths as possible. They were profoundly irritating. Choruses are better left for choirs and Shakespeare troupes.

"What is it?" Lucy asked warily.

Edmund silently shook his head _no. _

"If it is anything against her Majesty's safety," Reepicheep declared, "You will wonder at how many we can kill before _we _die from these creatures unseen!"

"It's a long story," the Chief was going to answer her question after all. "Why don't we all sit down?"

"Yes, yes, sitting down! Sitting down to hear the story, what a great idea, Chief!" there was a bunch of thumps all around, as if a dozen bums suddenly dropped to the sand. Drinian shook his head slightly—he did not want us to sit, and risk being caught off-guard. As if any attack wouldn't be surprising to us.

The Chief told the story—in a long, frustrating way, pausing every minute or so to say _and, to cut the long story short. _Every four lines or so, his entourage would break in with worshipful agreement and a repeat of whatever he just said. So, you have the benefit—nay, the _privilege—_of my short, uninterrupted summary.

"A long time ago, we were like servants, we were, for this magician," said the Chief, in a much longer and infuriating way. "He asked us to do somethin' that we didn't want to do—and when we says no—he flies into a great rage, you see he owns the island an' ain't used to bein' crossed, and casts a spell over us all that makes us ugly. We were right beautiful creatures, we were, so beautiful that we could 'ardly stand lookin' at each other while we was ugly. So my little girl, Clipsie her name is, sneaks into the magicians upstairs room an' says a spell to make us all invisible. It 'as to be a little girl, or the spell ain't workin', an' I don't know why that is—but the long an' short of it is, we're tired of bein' invisible. It must have enchanted the magician too, cause we ain't heard nor seen him since. We don't know if he's dead, gone away, or just sittin' upstairs bein' invisible or watchin' us from the bushes now. It's gettin' more'n our nerves can stand. We just want us all to be visible again despite how ugly we are."

"But what has this got to do with us?" Lucy asked.

"I've gone an' left out the whole point!" cried the Chief.

"Left it out, left it out all the way! Couldn't have left it out any less, Chief!"

"Well," explained the Chief, "We've been waitin' for a nice little girl from foreign parts to land on our island. We'd like 'er to go upstairs an' find the magician's magic book an' say the spell to make us visible again—an' here you are! We made ourselves a deal, see, that if any people come to our island, we wouldn't let 'em leave alive unless we let 'em borrow their little girl. If you don't comply, we'll be obligated to cut your throats! Merely as a business, though, no offense meant."

"That's right! Chief ain't meaning no offense! Just in the business of cutting throats! Couldn't have put it better, Chief!"

_Aha_, I thought, _there was a clincher. It took them long enough to get to the part that makes Reepicheep bristle. _

"I don't see any weapons!" Reepicheep glowered. "Are they invisible too?"

There was a whistle of sound, and suddenly, a shaft of a spear appeared from nowhere and _thunked _into the ground near our feet. We all gasped and took a step backwards.

"They're visible when they leave our 'ands!" they chorused. "That's a spear, that is! A spear you'll get if you don't do what we ask!"

"Haven't you got any little girls anymore?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah, doesn't Clipsie feel like having an adventure?" I chimed in.

"We daren't 'ave 'em go back! We daren't, we daren't!" they exclaimed.

"So you are asking _our _Queen to face a danger that you wouldn't ask your own wives and daughters to do?" Caspian said, darkly.

"That's right, that's right! You put it like our Chief, you did! Couldn't have said it better!"

"Just when one believes the best of the world," Drinian said, more to himself.

"They're cowards, Lucy," whispered Eustace, "All of them. Don't listen to them." _Eustace is doing very well at being a nice boy, _I thought, with some pride. _He'll make a fine one yet. _

"Would I have to wait till nightfall or a full moon or something?" Lucy asked, apprehensively. Edmund turned towards her with a shocked expression.

"Go at night?!" howled the voices. "Upstairs—in the dark! No no! Daylight! Little girl wants to go in the daylight! Don't wait till nightfall!"

"All right, then I'll do it," declared Lucy.

All the voices started cheering crazily.

"What are you _doing?_" Edmund demanded.

"Don't try to stop me," she said, calmly, directing more of this to Caspian than to Edmund. "There are dozens of them, and we can't fight them. Can't you see it's no use? There is a chance the other way."

"But a _magician,_" Caspian said, worriedly. His dark eyes were furrowed with it. He was starting to get worry-wrinkles in his forehead, I noticed. "Are you equipped to fight a person with magic—dark magic, if that is what he possesses?"

"I know, I know," Lucy shook her head, "But maybe he isn't as bad as they make him out to be. He made them ugly—he could've killed them, you know."

"We can't ask you to do a thing like this, Lu," Edmund took her shoulders. "We aren't going to use you like that. Ask Reep!" he turned quickly and pointed at a strangely quiet Reepicheep. "I'm sure you say the same, don't you, Reep?"

"But it's to save my life as well as yours," Lucy said, "I don't want to get sliced to bits with invisible swords either!"

"Her Majesty is in the right," Reepicheep said, slowly, "If we had any assurance of saving her by battle, our duty would be plain—but we do not have such an option. The service we ask of her is not contrary to her honor, but noble, and heroic. If the Queen's heart is moved to do such a thing—I will not tell her no."

"There, don't you see?" Lucy pressed.

Edmund grew very red faced. Caspian, too, looked a little embarrassed. The boys weren't used to having their lives placed in the hands of a girl. It's about time that they were showed that a woman could save a life as easy as a man could. Usually I commanded my feminism to stay in the shadows, but this time was an exception.

"I wonder why they don't want me to do it?" I said. I knew that Lucy—in the end—needed to be the one to do it, because I couldn't disrupt a plot to a point that I steal her vital role in the workings of the story and her own character development. But at this rate, it'd be cowardly of me not to say anything at all. "In Lucy's place—I'm older. I'm…" I gulped. "Expendable, in this case. She's a Queen, I'm not."

"I will not allow it," Lucy said, in a very queenly manner.

"You're not _expendable,_" Edmund said.

The voices, for all this time, had been talking and cheering loudly amongst themselves in celebration of Lucy's agreement. They paused, however briefly, when I ignored Lucy and posed my question.

"Hey!" I called. "If it's dangerous, why not have me do it? I'm sort of the Queen's unofficial body guard."

"I thought you were their gardener once," Caspian whispered, with understandable confusion. Quoting Samwise Gamgee has never led to more trouble.

The Chief made a thoughtful, _tsk tsk _sound. "An' how old is this little girl?"

"Twenty."

"Too old, too old!" they yelped. "the little girl looks little but ain't so little! It only works when little girls do it! You ain't saying no spell for us!"

"It was worth a shot," I said quickly, to amend Lucy's glare. "We have to make sure it really is our last possible resort."

"I think it is, and I think it's the right thing to do," Lucy said, stubbornly.

"Why do little girls have to do it?" Eustace asked.

"Don't know, don't know!"

"Perhaps because they are—for the most part—innocent and have pure intentions?" I offered. "Perhaps anyone older just taints the magic. Maybe there is an age limit. Maybe girls voices carry the perfect pitch and timbre for oral spells."

"That's right, that's right!" the voices said, elated. "That's what it's for! She's figured it out, she has! That's it! She's right, she is!"

"Why don't you all come back to the house for dinner?" said the Chief.

"Won't the magician be there?" Lucy asked nervously. "Perhaps I could just ask him…"

"Disappeared, remember? Ain't ne'er seen 'im since our invisible spell is said!" the Chief admonished. "Downstairs is ours, the kitchen is ours, we swear no 'arm will come to you. Good food, there is…"

"That's right, Chief! Lots of good food! We're great cooks, we are! He's never been more honest than now! Tell 'em, Chief!"

"Why don't we all go there and eat our supper now?" said the Chief. "And you lot can spend the night and the little girl can go upstairs in the morning."

"It is morning," I reminded him.

"I'd rather not," Eustace erupted. "I don't want to stay in their house, call me a coward if you like, but if I'm going to die, I don't want my throat getting slit in the night by some invisible creature."

"I do agree, but for different reasons," Caspian said, thoughtfully. "Not—if—but when Lucy is successful, we ought to return to the ship. The ship is still unaware of our situation here. We should get it over with, as quickly as possible. What if Rhince and Rynelf grew worried, and sent a party to shore in an attempt to rescue us, and endangered Lucy while in the process of breaking a spell? For Lucy's sake. Dinner. And then her mission—if that is what she desires."

"It is," Lucy said, shortly. She turned to me, clutched my arm, and said in a whisper, "You would tell me if I was going to die, wouldn't you?"

"You aren't going to die," I whispered back. "You will _not _die."

Edmund reached over and reclaimed her hand once again. "You won't."

Lucy squeezed his hand, and held her other out towards Eustace. With some hesitancy, Eustace took it, and gave it an encouraging shake. Once again, I felt slightly left out. It would always be the Pevensies. They were the original characters. I wasn't much more than a tic in their literature—

Edmund held out his hand, expectantly.

"Oh," I said, taking it, with a half-grin. We began to walk back towards the house—Caspian led us, and Drinian and Reepicheep brought up the rear, constantly checking over their shoulders towards the _thump, thump _that echoed all around.

"But she won't be brutally maimed or enchanted into a frog?" Eustace added.

"Neither," I said, wholeheartedly. "Lucy, even if I told you exactly what happened—detail by detail—I can't change what happens in your _head,_" my toes crunched the gravel of the driveway, and the beautiful green of the trees cast dappled shadows across our faces. "I can't _influence you. _What if that ruined you? Or I _caused _your death?"

"Caused it?" Lucy exclaimed. "And how could knowing my future do that?"

I shrugged. I was thinking of Shade, the beloved, well-spoken tiger that I befriended during the battles of Caspian's retaking of Narnia. If we hadn't met, and he hadn't adopted me as his pet, would he have lived? In the end, I proved a distraction, and caused his death. He gave me a perplexed glance over his shoulder, seconds before leaping—without looking first—into the sharp head of a spear. I think the shock I felt at seeing him collapse is what fueled me to kill my first Telmarine—and I ignored the psychological effects of it and focused, instead, on grieving for Shade.

God, was my brain really so messed up?

I didn't want to have the same effect on other characters—far more important ones to Lewis's plot. And to be honest, I couldn't handle the guilt.

"Pippin?" Lucy persisted.

"You're not going to die, or be brutally maimed," I repeated. "This is an adventure. You'll be the better for it."

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank-you. That doesn't make me any less fearful—but—at least I know I can look forward to it being over and done with."

"Have you noticed we all hold hands a lot?" I changed the subject quickly. "All book and movie adaptations seem to pick up that detail. We're always holding hands. To go from one realm to another, to summon Aslan, to encourage, at the beginning and at the end—we're always holding hands."

"I guess I never noticed before," Edmund said.

"You mean I'll have to participate in physical affection more often?" Eustace said, trying not to sound too horrified.

"Spoken like a real British schoolboy," I laughed. It was a forced laugh, one that was merely trying to diffuse the tension.

…

We were hustled and prodded by the unseen folk and ushered through the small doorway into the politely furnished home. To the right was a wide, arched entrance into a parlor, complete with settees, Turkish-looking rugs, dark goldenrod curtains, kerosene lamps, and oil paintings on the mahogany walls. In front of us were carpeted stairs that led up, made a U-turn over a landing, and continued on into shadow. The dark banister was outrageously decorative and thick, like a mansion refurbished in the 1970s, and beside it, a small hallway led to—presumably—a bathroom under the stairs, and a kitchen entrance to the left.

To our immediate left, was a second arched opening, and this is where the Outrageous Voices urged us to go. When we passed through, we found ourselves in a dining room. The table was dark wood, the walls were emerald green, the curtains a thick mauve, and the chandelier brass and hanging far too low above the table. The table was already set for the seven of us, with a high chair placed at Caspian's left for Reepicheep. A door near the back of the room swung on easy hinges, both ways, for easy access to a kitchen that I assume was a perfect mix of Downton Abbey and one of those house tours you might have taken with your grandparents.

Caspian motioned us to sit down, and we complied, trying to keep up a steady stream of nervous conversation, as our chairs were pushed in politely by no one at all. The kitchen door began to swing open and closed, and plates and bowls and serving platters came bouncing in, one after the other, floating up and down and spilling messily like vials and potions flying by Merlin's magic in a Disney musical. The voices clattered and shouted instructions loudly, crashing their offered meals onto the plates and goblets. Things were spilt and lying haphazardly on the tablecloth, but we did our best to retrieve them with utensils and eat them from our settings.

"The more I see these things jump up and down," Eustace said, "The more I think they might have been enchanted into grasshoppers… or giant frogs!"

"I think you're right," Edmund whispered, "but don't bring up the grasshoppers—Lucy doesn't like insects."

Eustace must have remembered his favorite pastime of catching bugs and pinning them to cardboard, and looked a little shame-faced.

There was bread pudding with raisins, roast chicken with asparagus, fried potatoes slathered in something like guacamole, wine and iced tea. We tried to enjoy the food despite a rousing repetitive crowd saying things like

'Best thing you ever et, eh?'

'That's right Chief! Best they ever 'et!'

'Have some of that wine, won't you?'

'That's right Chief, offer 'em the wine! Good year, it was!'

'Look, you've gone and made me spill all over the mouse!'

'Never a finer spilling there was!'

'I say, it's gettin' dark out! Always does at night!'

'You came in a ship over the ocean? Terribly wet it is, ain't it?'

Lucy kept looking over my shoulder, through the doorway. Her eyes continually rested at the foot of the stairs. I'm sure she wished she could see around the corner to have, at least, an idea of what she might face. I wished I could give her some idea of what lay ahead without dangerous repercussions, but who was I to know?

…

After the meal, we dabbed our faces with some clean corner of a napkin, and pushed back from the table. The Voices chanted and cheered and urged us back through the doors, and several crashes erupted from the kitchen as some of them attempted to carry tall stacks of plates through to be washed. We finally stood, in a strange little cluster, at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, I'm going to go up now," Lucy said, looking rather numb.

"It's the last door on the left!" instructed the invisible Chief.

"That's right, last door on the left, it is! He's giving you right and proper directions, he is! Never said a truer word!"

"You'll be _fine!_" I exclaimed, giving her a quick hug. "Don't worry!"

The front door suddenly opened for a moment, and a whole presence bustled and whispered and clumped outside together—_thump thump thump thump thump thump!—_and the door slammed shut again.

Edmund folded Lucy into his arms, the way older brothers do, and was very reluctant to let go. Eustace gave her a hesitant hug, but he, too, didn't seem to want to let go. Drinian and Reepicheep bowed. Lucy stood on her tiptoes and kissed Caspian's cheek. "Good luck," he said, and his voice cracked involuntarily.

Lucy turned, wordlessly, and began to walk up the stairs. She didn't look back, not even once. She went up, and up, taking each stair as if it was defeating an obstacle with every step. Then she rounded the corner, and when her footsteps faded, we knew she was out of the stairwell and into the hallway.

And then we heard nothing at all.

…

"Maybe we should sit down," I suggested presently, after a long, intense minute of absolute silence, save a clock ticking nearby.

"It seems oddly quiet, shouldn't we hear something?" Eustace shivered.

"The things all went outside," I said quietly. The silence did seem unbearably pressing. "They couldn't even stick around to see Lucy off."

"I can't seem to say this enough," Eustace huffed, "Those _cowards!_"

Caspian was the first to plop down on the carpeted landing, crisscrossing his legs and pulling a small danger and whetstone from his belt. He began to sharpen it, making no eye contact. Drinian took a seat on a small ottoman by the front door, staying alert and constantly checking through the small front window and through the side-doors to the living room and empty dining room. Even the sounds from the kitchen had all disappeared. Eustace sat by the banister on the lowest stair. Eventually he got too creeped out from having his back to the stair wall, and moved to the ottoman with Drinian. Reepicheep remained standing at the foot of the stairs, head tilted to listen, leaning on a potted plant. Edmund paced—from one end to the other—back and forth, back and forth.

I sat on the floor across from Caspian. "She's going to be fine," I assured everyone again. Everyone nodded in some way but did not reply.

The grandfather clock somewhere in the house was ticking. The tick tock grew louder and louder, growing on our subconscious the way sunlight appears on eyelids in the morning. One doesn't notice how loud and obtrusive clocks are until they are the only things filling the room.

It chimed, _bong, bing, bang, bong, ting, tang, ding, dong… _

And then, _ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding!_

"Eight o'clock," Eustace said, unnecessarily.

Caspian looked up briefly from his sharpening, face unreadable.

Back to the ticking.

I felt edgy, as if a timer was going to go off and scare the daylights out of me.

Eight fifteen.

"I suppose those on the ship are beginning to wonder why we haven't signaled," I whispered quietly to Eustace, as he seemed more apt to talk than anyone else. "And when Lucy says the spell, they'll see whatever-it-is that makes the thumps."

Edmund suddenly looked down at us. "You _know _what's making the thumps," he said, in a sort of accusing voice.

I looked at him, surprised. "And what if I do?"

Caspian glanced up, sensing trouble.

"Then you don't have to play along, is all I meant," Edmund said, back peddling. "If you know what happens, then, if you don't want, you don't have to pretend. I get it. It's a silly thing to do."

"I'm not _pretending _anything, and I don't know _everything,_" I protested. "I am being sincere and genuine. For what I know, it could all be for naught if I'm here."

"It always has to be about you, doesn't it?" Edmund continued, not meeting my eyes.

"No!" I exclaimed. My voice seemed unnaturally loud. "It doesn't! I'm just saying—you and Lucy both keep assuming I know 'everything', which I don't. _Because _my presence—which is like one giant unhappening—could change _everything. _That's why I don't interfere—when I can. I don't want to make things worse if bad things happen, and I don't want to make bad things happen when things are good. Do you see?"

Edmund was silent.

"It's _not _always about me," I added, my temper getting riled up. "But if I'm dragged into everything like your personal psychic…"

"That's not what we do," Edmund replied, heatedly.

"But you wish you could," I snapped.

"Children," Drinian muttered under his breath.

"While I appreciate Pippin's point," Reepicheep said loftily, "King Edmund deserves the respect even when one disagrees…"

"I'm all for respect," I interrupted. "Especially when it's demanded but not _given _in return. It's not like you _respect _preserving the future for the sake of keeping the present going according to Aslan's plan or anything. And then as soon as I try to defend my secrecy, you call me self-centered. King or not, that's a rotten thing for a _friend _to do."

Caspian looked at us with a look of pity and embarrassment. He didn't want to be listening in on this conversation, but he didn't exactly have earmuffs to block it out.

"Back to my earlier point," Edmund ignored _my _point, "You don't have to play along. If you're not worried about Lucy, just say so."

"But I am," I protested, "I _always _am. Even if—I know—that this adventure does not kill her, or as Eustace put it, 'brutally maim her', I'll worry anyway. I'm worried that she is frightened. I am worried that she'll do this later in life—take on other's problems even if they are too overwhelming for her. I'm not pretending to be concerned about her just for the sake of keeping up appearance." I paused. "If you knew my personality at all, you wouldn't think so."

"And, again, it has to be about you."

"You can't accuse me of something, and expect me to talk about Winston Churchill instead," I declared, throwing my hands in the air. "I'm just a little bit relevant to the conversation!"

Edmund let out an angry exhale. "Just… tell me what is happening up there?"

"Edmund," Caspian began.

"Tell me!" Edmund ignored Caspian. "This worrying and waiting—I can't stand it. I want to know what she's doing and if that old magician is really up there… watching her."

"Pippin's right, in a way," Caspian said, gently, getting to his feet and putting his dagger back into his belt. "Knowing the future—you know whose job that is? Aslan. If Aslan were the one standing here—and not Pippin—would you make the same demands of Him?"

Edmund sighed. "No, I guess not."

"Thanks, King Caspian," I said, "For making a fair point, but you don't need to take sides. Unlike some people, I don't _drag _other people into things they don't feel like they should participate in."

Edmund glared at me. I frowned back, and then he looked back up the stairs.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock. _

"Lucy's having a great time upstairs," I said bitterly, "And she's forgotten all about _us _waiting down here."

"Thank-you for the sarcasm," Edmund said resentfully.

"I'm not being sarcastic, I'm answering your question," I stood up and straightened my pants. "You want me to give away what happens? Fine. That's what happens. She's having a lovely time upstairs and learning a few lessons. I wish I was up there with her, instead of down here with _you._"

Eustace suddenly laughed, and then stopped, at my incredulous look. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's just all—very—silly."

"Thanks for telling me," Edmund said, sounding just a little—and perhaps it was my imagination—repentant for asking in the first place.

"You're not welcome," I said stiffly. "That wasn't fair and you know it. But you feel better now, don't you? Since it's not enough to let Aslan's plan take it's course—you're satisfied?"

Edmund looked quite willing to drop the subject. "I am just relieved to know that Lucy is safe, that's all."

"Lucy and I had a conversation like this once, you know. You didn't seem keen on agreeing with her opinion then…"

"Only because I was so annoyed with Eustace," Edmund protested, "I didn't really care, at that point, how the dragon thing turned out."

"Oh is _that _so?" Eustace exclaimed.

"But that changed," Edmund said quickly to amend insulting his cousin as well. "Just because I was merely a bystander to your discussion with Lucy doesn't mean I didn't agree with her."

"So you were just waiting for a tense moment to ask me future-shattering questions?" I said, feeling worn down. Arguing with people—the sorts of arguments that makes you question the survival of the relationship—always make me cry. I hate that, but I do it in private, but still—tears. Lots of tears. Joss Whedon would be fascinated. "You said once—that even if I didn't have any purpose being here—you were happy I was here because we're friends. Is that not true any more?"

"Of course it's true…"

"Then _act _like it," I concluded, flatly. "You want to know what the thumps are, too? Monopods. Small, thumpy-jumpy monopods. That doesn't change anything that has happened or will happen—they may have still slit our throats if Lucy didn't go upstairs, I don't know. Maybe that spear would have gone right through Reepicheep if we stepped out of line. And the disappearing magician? The magician is a kind, wise, old soul—and we're _privileged _to be in his home right now."

"Monopods," Caspian repeated, astounded.

"Lucy is saying a spell upstairs, and she'll be invited to a lovely lunch," I continued on, feeling that hot, burning feeling in one's throat and behind one's eyes when one is about to cry. "If I had told her about the magician being upstairs and waiting with a lovely meal, maybe she would have been distracted and read the spell wrong. Maybe she would skip looking for the spell book at _all _and just have tea with the magician. And then maybe she woudn't have gotten to see Aslan, since the spell book is what brings him out of hiding anyway."

"Aslan?!" chorused everyone at once. They sounded like the invisible monopods.

"Want to hear more?" I cried. "Or is that good enough?"

"You've made your point, all right?" Edmund said.

_Bong, bing, bang, bong, ting, tang, ding, dong…ding!_

"Eight-thirty," Eustace yelped, far too animatedly.

Suddenly, Lucy was flying around the corner, running down the stairs two at a time, and cannon-balling right into Edmund.

"Oof!" he practically shrieked in surprise.

"It's all right!" Lucy shouted happily. "Everything is all right! The Magician is a brick—and I've seen Him—I've seen Aslan!" then she pushed past Edmund, darted to the front door, and pulled it open.

The entry flooded with sunlight, and she disappeared outside.

We were all left stunned, and then finally, Caspian and Drinian led the way outside. I hung back, and no one noticed.

I decided to go upstairs.

…

The carpet swallowed the sounds of my footsteps. I kept one hand on the cold railing, up and up, till I was around the corner, and going up the second half of the flight. Then I was at the top of the hallway, looking down the white-paneled hall with dark-wood beams (not unlike a certain library that once catapulted me into Narnia) that ran for the whole length of the house. Last door on the left, the monopods had said. I tried to ignore the creepiness of the hallway… big, dark doors with strange red symbols painted on each one, animal-esque masks hanging on the walls, mirrors with gargoyle-ish frames.

A door to my right stood open, and inside was a table laden with foods and every available surface covered in vases of flowers.

"Coriakin?" I called hesitantly, for that was the wizard's name from the book, but I was unsure of its pronunciation.

He seemed to blend right in with his environment. I could have sworn the room was empty—and yet there he was, standing with arms clasped, and looking out the front window onto the lawns and the Treader beyond.

"Ah, yes, Pippin," Coriakin turned slowly, his red robe making no sound. He wore a small circlet on his head, and a long white beard, as all wizards should possess. "I heard a disagreement downstairs—and knew that it was _not _my subjects who spoke. It was far too articulate for that!"

"Can you help me with something?" I asked, hesitant.

"Does it have something to do with your disagreement?"

"Yes."

"First, come over here, and have a look," Coriakin motioned me over. I entered the room and felt the atmosphere change instantly. _Aslan was here only minutes ago, _I realized, _The room retains some of that perfume of goodness that seems to linger around him._

I went to the Magician and stood by his side. Out on the lawn, the monopods—a little dwarf with a thick leg attached to one, giant, mushroom-looking foot—were all jumping and leaping about. Lucy was waving her hands at them emphatically, and the others were trying not laugh.

"Visible again, but still ugly," laughed Coriakin. "Lucy was successful, and the spell itself made the Lion appear to us. If I'd have known Aslan would appear, I would have changed them back ages ago."

_Thump! Thump! _They all jumped around like jack-rabbits. Eventually, the whole entourage began to move down the driveway and towards the beach where there was more space. I couldn't help myself, I giggled a little, and brushed away a tear leftover from earlier.

"What would you like?" asked Coriakin, turning to me. "Something to eat?"

"No, thank-you."

"Tea, then," he pulled a teacup from the table, and suddenly, a teakettle—despite the fact it was sitting on a book on the shelf—began to whistle. He jerked it from its place, poured, and handed it proudly over.

"Thank-you," I said, trying to keep my geeky reactions to magic down to a minimum. "Is there a spell to help people forget things?"

"Many spells—most of them, very bad for those that want it and those that say it. Far too risky."

"What if I read a history book from the future and I want to get rid of that knowledge to protect that future and the people in it?"

Coriakin looked highly interested. "Is this book with you?"

"No."

"What is it called?"

"Strange things ha—wait. No. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader."

Coriakin looked out to the harbor with a realizing smile. "Ah, I see…"

I followed his gaze. Reepicheep was trying to conduct something—waving his tiny arms about, shouting something. Many of the Monopods listen with distrust before jumping into the waters of the bay and using small branches as oars to row themselves around. Their own large feet—or foots?—had their own buoyancy and floated like driftwood.

"You don't seem surprised that I'm from another world or another future," I added, smirking a little.

"I rule an entire island of dwarves that I've uglified into monopods, and I've just spoken with a spell-breaking little girl and the Lion of this world—nothing surprises me, my dear."

"Oh. Well—the stakes are high. I want to change this before it… ruins any friendships."

"I cannot help but wonder," said the Magician, "If this is running from a problem, not solving one."

"I think it'd be safer—you know? For however long I'm here. I don't want to spoil Aslan's destiny for any of these people."

"Do you really think the great Aslan's destiny is something that can be spoilt by a human?"

"Good point…" I sipped my tea. The teacup was small, and after a few silent seconds of merely sipping, it was empty. "Is it possible, though? To make me forget?"

"It is," he said simply.

My teacup was full again. I smiled. "Magic?" I asked, hopefully.

The Magician looked down, rather sympathetically. "No… unhappenings."

My stomach twisted up, and I returned the cup to the table. "I don't suppose _you _know what those are? You seem to know a lot already."

"I do, actually."

"Please—what are they? I've wondered for so long…"

"The more you doubt, the more the fabric of your presence is questioned and battered by the enemies of Aslan. When your confidence is low—the curtain is thinned, and the—oh, for lack of a better term, _inner demons _shall we say—are at work, the world of Narnia loses it's grip on you—even if just for a second, or a whole day. By your sheer will, you are nearly sending yourself back to your own world. That's why things reverse—you're moving backwards. Or why things repeat—you've come back, fully, to hear things again. When things appear out of thin air—the Lion only knows why that happens! When you've found yourself thrown in one place or another, the magic itself bringing you back and forth has made an error. But it _is _mostly you, you know. It is not always a mistake of magic. It is your thoughts."

"So, I'm at risk right now," I said, sarcastically. "Great."

"In my opinion, us people can do plenty of things to make unhappenings," Coriakin said, "But only if it is Aslan's will would you be sent back before your time."

"Thank-you for answering my question."

"Now—would you like to forget?"

"Well—er—not the answer you just told me, if you please…"

He chuckled, flicking his fingers. A tiny parchment appeared in his hand. "The contents of the book—the Voyage of the Dawn Treader?" he double-chcked.

"That's the one," I said, quickly, before I lost my nerve.

Coriakin began to read the words from his tiny scroll aloud. I do not remember what he spoke, only that the words were light—and not at all Shakespearian or threatening the way I thought a forgetting spell would be. The rhyme and pitch rolled, simply, off the tongue and out the window, till a breeze stirred up indoors and I felt a warm, fuzzy tingling run from my scalp down to my hands. It was peaceful, and somehow, a sense of loss pervaded. I swallowed a lump in my throat and realized the Magician had stopped speaking; the scroll and breeze were gone.

"Now," Coriakin said, "What happens in Chapter Twelve?"

I smiled, hazily. "I have… no idea. I have _no clue. _I feel… much better."

"Why don't you rejoin your friends? They will be wondering where you have gone."

"Do I owe you anything? For the spell?"

"No, no! It was a gift, from one servant of Aslan to another."

"Thank-you."

"You are welcome."

"You don't think Aslan will mind?"

"Mind? That I merely removed a god-like power that may have become too tempting for you to use in the future? I think he might find it considerate and helpful."

"I hope so too. I don't suppose I'll ever be able to ask."

"Perhaps you'll see him again someday."

"I knew whether or not I'd see him—once. Now I can only hope. I think I like hoping much better."

"As we should, as we should."

A pause, and a grateful smile. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Pippin. It was nice to meet you."

…

I came down the stairs, just as Edmund appeared in the front door again.

"Caspian asked me to fetch you… what were you doing up there?" he asked, confused.

"I wanted to see the Magician for myself, so I went," I said, bluntly.

An awkward pause. I descended the stairs, and stopped, standing in the entry.

"I am sorry we quarreled," Edmund said, carefully. I was glad he was sorry for arguing, and glad that he didn't change his opinion. I think real friends can disagree, but still apologize for the manner in which it is discussed.

"As am I, but it doesn't matter anymore," I shrugged. "I don't remember anything about the future. From this point on, I'm as unsure as you are."

"Wait—what? What did you do?"

"The magician took away my memories of the book I read. The future is as the future should be—unknown, and unseen. I didn't want that obligation. I asked him to take it away."

Edmund looked disappointed.

"What?" I said. "Sorry that you can't ask me what happens next?"

"Sorry that you felt like you needed to do that. I wouldn't have driven you to it, you know. I… I would have come 'round. You know me, I'll lose my temper once, and get over it… and…"

"Well, it _did _drive me to that. You made me feel like a selfish brat for not sharing tomorrow's headlines. I didn't like feeling that way, so I eliminated the problem."

Edmund gave me a curious look. "You seem different."

"How?"

"Colder."

"Colder?"

"No, no, wrong word. Emptier."

"Empty! Really! Cold and empty!"

"In a good way. Lighter. Freer."

"Just like old times," I said, folding my arms over my chest. "When I first came here, in Miraz's time—I didn't know a thing. In fact, I forgot most of what was in my old world, too. Is this better?"

"Please tell me you didn't get this—uh, spell, and everything—simply because of what I said," Edmund asked.

"What you said was just the cherry on a tall, tall cake. I want to experience things here the way they ought to be experienced… you know. With hope… not knowledge."

"I just feel… memory tampering… it's a bit of a mess, isn't it?"

"Not any messier than unhappenings—which—by the way—is my presence flickering in and out of my world and this world… whenever my confidence is low and leaves room for error in the magic keeping me here."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

Edmund let out a pained laugh. "Our theories… very close. _So _close, in fact, I'd rather just say—gee! We were right, after all!"

"Because we're smart and awesome," I smiled slightly, "So… can we be friends again?"

"We never stopped."

…

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review, you silly lurkers and invisible readers! The spell made **_**you **_**all visible too, so now you'll just **_**have **_**to say something. ;)**


	20. In the Dark

**Dear Readers,**

**At long last! Though not as long as last time! Reader replies at the end of the chapter. Happy readings!**

**Pippin**

* * *

…

…

Strange Things Happen

…

…

* * *

Chapter 20

In the Dark

Edmund and I smiled at each other; it was a relief to make up. It was best not to dwell on it… though there was a very small part of me that acknowledged—yes, I _am _an unreliable narrator, and I wished I could explain it to Edmund. I knew my writing professors back in my own—old?—world would appreciate my admittance. Do I often make things about myself when they don't need to be? Yes. It was a flaw I always noticed about myself, but had never had a friend who had the gall to point it out before now. He was right, though incorrect as it pertained to this particular discussion. I think Edmund saw it in my eyes—both of us were full of rights, and full of wrongs. We could only agree the right thing to do was not to argue and to stay on the same side.

"Children," said the soft-spoken voice of the magician. We looked up, and he was coming down the stairs, his feet bare and making no noise whatsoever. "May I ask a favor of you?"

"Anything," I said quickly. After all, I owed him for the spell.

"Would you request your King and his party to return? I have some things that will be of use for you."

…

We all stood crammed into one of the magician's rooms, where all sorts of sea-travel instruments: weights, latitudes, longitudes, dials, and brass scopes on the shelves glimmered in the noon sun. On a drafting table in the center, the magician laid out two pieces of paper. With a wave of his hand, images began to appear. They were done with black ink scrollwork and watercolor, fading into view and becoming more and more detailed. We ooh'd and aah'd, and Coriakin grinned at our response.

It was a map of our journey thus far; from the shores of Narnia, to Galma, Redhaven, The Lone Islands… even a blotted drawing of the sea serpent rose from an artistic ocean wave.

"Can it be only a few days since we fought that thing?" I whispered to Eustace.

"Ugh," Eustace replied.

Coriakin paused with his deft hand gestures, and pointed towards the window. "If I may—your Majesties, gentlemen, Knight of Narnia, and Ladies—pause my cartography for a moment, and direct your attention to the Dawn Treader."

Caspian looked instantly. "Is there something wrong with her?"

"The sea serpent ought to remind you."

"The tail," Reepicheep said, ruefully. "The sea serpent broke it when we rolled it off."

"We did not find time to repair the stern," Drinian said, "Between Miss Pippin's strange disappearance from the ship and the hasty departure from Deathwater."

"Time? Time is no concern of mine," Coriakin laughed, and nodded. "Look to her again."

In the blink of an eye, the tail had been repaired. The Dawn Treader, with the green iron head and tail of a dragon, looked as new and complete as the day we set out of the harbor of Cair Paravel.

"Thank-you, sir," Caspian couldn't hold back a smile.

"It is my pleasure to serve the King of Narnia. Now—if you'll look back to the map."

We turned from the window, unable to wipe the beaming smiles from our faces.

The map was complete to the point of reaching the Magician's island.

"The map now holds all your journey from before, but beyond, it is blank. It will magically record what occurs after events unfold. When you return to Narnia—you will have a complete history for your people. This is my first gift to the King."

"First gift? You've repaired my ship and—I cannot begin to thank-you," Caspian said. "What can I give to you in return?"

"Just a little information of what happened on Deathwater," Coriakin said.

Edmund and Caspian shifted uncomfortably.

"I… do not entirely remember what happened," Caspian admitted.

"They were a bit disillusioned when they came aboard," Drinian said, crisply. "I would almost call them enchanted. From what I could glean from their—pardon me, your Majesty—delirious report of what happened—they found the body of one of the seven Lords we seek."

"That answers some of my questions, for no reason other than my personal curiosity. In return, I will provide some information you might find useful," Coriakin replied, nonplussed by the idea of the boys being bewitched after visiting Deathwater. "Seven years ago, a Narnian ship came to my waters. On board were the Lords Rhoop, Lord Revilian, Lord Argoz, and Lord Mavramorn. Does this clarify things for you?"

"That means the body we found was Lord Restimar," Caspian let out a breath. "That makes two—Resitmar, and the Lord Octesian—dead."

"How he remembers those names is beyond me," Eustace whispered.

"In my head," I replied, "I just think of them all as Lord Vader and Lord Voldemort."

"You will find many useful gifts on board the Dawn Treader," Coriakin said. "I'm certain your other crewmates are probably appalled at their appearance from nowhere. I will let you go now, so that you might explain things to them."

He began to bow, but Caspian clutched his hand and shook it graciously. "I can't even begin to ask all my questions of you—the how and why of magic will always elude me—but I thank you, ever so much, for _whatever _it is that you've sent to the Dawn Treader."

"It is my pleasure."

"Have you ever traveled beyond your own island?" asked Drinian. "If we can ask but one more favor—can you give us an idea of what we might face?"

"I have never left my shores since coming here from Narnia. But the four lords who stopped here went on, and have never returned. That is as much as I can say."

…

It seemed to take ages to get away from the Magician's island. The monopods, with plenty to say, wanted us all to stay for a second meal—this one they called breakfast, even though they had already served us dinner at 7:30 in the morning. They also wanted to make a holiday in honor of Lucy making them visible again, but the choruses soon decided to make the holiday in honor of their Chief—"whose idea it all was in the first place".

In the end, there was very little gratitude, and everyone was of the same mind—moving on. We replenished supply of fresh water, and found barrels delivered by the Magician. There were peaches, oranges, cherries, beer, crackers, peppers, scrolls of leather to repair boots and belts, fresh linen, new rope, candles, and torches. Rather than going all Mrs. Weasely over all these new things apparating like Fred and George on deck, Herring and Olan went to work on inventory and storing everything properly. They even had a list prepared for Caspian by the time we got on board.

When we set sail again, the Chief shouted his farewell—and rather than shouting their own goodbyes—the rest of the monopods congratulated their Chief on saying farewell better than anyone else.

…

There was a full moon over the ocean. The light shone through the small porthole into the cabin, splaying a white circle on the floor and the edge of the bed.

"You awake, Pippin?" asked Lucy.

"Only just," I mumbled into my pillow.

"Edmund told me you don't remember anything now."

"That is true."

"I think I'm relieved."

"You no more than me."

"So you don't know what happened upstairs—with the magician—do you?"

"I remember only what I told Edmund—you were having lunch and learning lessons. And something about Aslan. That's it—it was vague, even for me."

"I said the visibility spell."

I grinned. "That's right, Chief!" I quoted. "She said the spell, she did!"

"I said more than one."

"Oh?"

"I said a spell to eavesdrop on some of my friends from school. Turns on one is quite a little beast—she never really liked me at all. The other was too weak to stand up for me."

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I know what that is like. It's best to let people like that go, and make new friends."

"I also almost said a spell to make me beautiful."

"You _are _beautiful, Lucy!"

"More beautiful than anyone—ever."

"Are we talking _Helen of Troy _here?"

"Practically!"

"That's pretty intense. That's the thing about magic, though. It wouldn't be natural beauty. And you're very naturally beautiful!"

"You really think so?"

"Those big eyes, reddish hair, perfect smile? _Yeah!_"

"Thank-you… But I couldn't do it. I didn't say it."

"I'm glad to hear it. You wouldn't be you, you know. You are the most beautiful when you are you."

"I don't wish to be vain."

"It's not vain to have confidence. You have a smart brain and the compassion of a dozen fauns. And everyone is just another version of beautiful—if we weren't, after all, how would we even have a concept of it? That sounded better in my head. Really."

"I'm sure it did," Lucy chuckled, and then she yawned. "Its relieving to have another girl on board to confess to. I… I don't think I could have told Edmund. He wouldn't understand."

"He'd just say 'that's the trouble with girls' and insult us somehow," I laughed.

"Probably," Lucy yawned again, and then she mumbled a quick _goodnight. _

After twenty minutes or so, I was fairly certain she was asleep. I, on the other hand, kept hearing a strange creaking noise that I wanted to investigate. It was not the usual creaking, it was the sound of someone pacing the poop deck agitatedly.

…

The moonlight was bright enough to cast a pale light over the deck and make the shadows stand out like black stripes. It was quiet, for the most part, it seemed most of the nightcrawlers had gathered in the galley for their midnight breakfast. I crept out of the door and looked out, and up, and heard the more distinct sound of footsteps striding back and forth. I went lightly up the ladder and peered over the edge.

Persus was sitting on the bench, drinking something from a flask with a gulp and a wince. Ave was pacing, back and forth, back and forth. Olan was at the helm.

"Ah, another sailor of the sun joins us," greeted Olan loudly. It's a miracle that Odinson didn't wake the whole ship up when he opened his mouth. "Aviary and Miss Pippin both!"

Ave glanced over at me.

"I could hear you pacing," I said, coming up over the edge. Persus silently offered me his flask. I smiled and declined it, but was secretly pleased at the gesture. It was better than his usual innuendo.

"The man is having—deep thoughts," Olan explained.

"Ha," Ave said dryly.

"What's up?" I asked.

"You want to know something?" Ave blurted.

"Sure?" I replied, sitting gingerly next to Persus. _As long as he isn't one of those grabby-kissy sort of drunks… _I hoped. _We can get along. _

"You know Robin's middle name is Thomas?" Ave said.

Present tense. Ouch. "I didn't know that."

"Nobody knew that," Ave said. "Not even Aemon. The three of us have always been friends. But Robin and I grew up together."

"He mentioned it once," I said, not sure where this was going. "On the beach that day. Before the pirates. He said you weren't a 'bad sort of chap' because he knew you longer than any of us. Or something like that."

"When he died, everyone was 'Aemon, I'm so sorry,' and 'So sorry for your friend, Aemon' and no one thought of me."

"Jealous of sympathy?" Persus asked, without much… sympathy.

"No, my point is, nobody really _knew _Robin. The King thinks he must tell the family about his death—but no. The King's news will be an announcement, a proclamation, of his 'noble sacrifice' and all that. I will be giving the real news. And I'll be with the family as they come to terms with it."

"Have another drunk, mate," Persus said, handing the flask to him. I fought a giggle—this was not the time, nor the place. How to spot the drunk on the deck. _Have another 'drunk'! _

Ave took one sip, grimaced, and gave it back quickly. "You know Robin liked being called 'Tom'? He wasn't terribly keen on being 'Robin'. Too many jokes on his behalf, growing up, being a musician and all. In fact, if it wasn't for Flanagan, he probably wouldn't have gone by Robin… ever. I was the only one who called him Tom."

"Flanagan inspired him?" I asked.

"Flanagan was the real musician, but he admired Tom so much, that when he called him 'Robin'… he used it with such respect and suddenly Rob didn't mind so much anymore."

"That's sweet."

Persus sighed. "This is all very fine. Musicians and middle names and Aemon getting the comfort you plainly deserve. But when it comes right down to it—he's dead, you're not, so for the Lion's sake, stop moping and get _on _with it."

"Have you ever lost a loved one, Persus?" Olan asked.

Persus took another deep swig. "All of them."

There was a brief silence. Ave stopped his pacing.

"That's terrible, I'm sorry," I said, trying to break the pause.

Persus shrugged. "I wouldn't be here now if I'd spent my nights wearing a deck down and lamenting my regrets. Just take it from me, Ave—there are worst things in this life. Far worse."

"Have you talked to Aemon about this?" I asked. "If you two really are so close, this event should… you know… bring you together, not drive you apart."

"Your brothers are all you've got left, and you're lucky at that," Persus emptied the flask, and with a frown, tossed it overboard.

"I've been fine, for the past couple of weeks," Ave said, "But tonight… I just… wasn't _fine _anymore."

"Grief comes in waves," I said, "You'll feel relieved in the morning."

"And you will have lots of work to do in the morning," Olan said, "And unless you want to join our crew…"

"No, no, I need both sunlight and saltwater in my veins," Ave exclaimed. "I can hear your hints. I will go back to my hammock and sleep my sadness away."

"And you?" Olan said to me.

"Me too," I said. "I need some shut-eye. I'll see you guys again, though. Maybe I'll stay up another night."

"Goodnight, both of you," Olan said. "And sleep well!"

"Yeah," agreed Persus. "You know, Ave, if you wanted company, I'm sure you could squeeze Pippin into that hammock with you. It could be… cozy."

"Ah, and there it is," I rolled my eyes. "Persus?"

"Yes?"

"Shut yer foul mouth."

Olan laughed loudly. Ave tipped an imaginary cap, punched Persus in the shoulder, and descended to the main deck.

"Goodnight," I called up as I glanced briefly over the railing.

In the spotlight of the moon on the dark blue waters, there was a rush of air from a spout that shot about fifteen feet straight into the air. A large tail lifted out of the water, dripped, and the back of the pod crested above the waves, and then disappeared again. It was the first time I had ever seen a whale in the wild. I didn't expect it to be so pretty or lonely looking.

…

The next morning, I was helping Tusk dish out eggs. It had been a long time since we'd had fried eggs—one of the Magician's gifts was a crate half-full with straw, and nesting in the straw were three healthy chickens. We loaded them into the henhouse on the main deck, and they began laying instantly. I may or may not have named them Two-four, Six-Oh, and Ooooone. I may or may not have referred to them as Prisoner 24601 for the rest of the trip. And I may, or maybe not, sang about how their "time was up and their paroles' begun" whenever I collected eggs.

The sailors were very loud and very grateful for the eggs. I tried to make Aemon try it with apple slices like the way my father makes it, but Caspian was the only one brave enough to try it. Reepicheep was certainly brave enough, but he doesn't eat eggs, only veggies. I almost referred to his diet as 'rabbit food' before catching myself—he probably wouldn't understand that it wasn't an insult.

"Last plate," Tusk handed me a tin plate and I plunged it into the sudsy water. I scratched at a dried piece of egg till it was finally clean and handed off to Aemon to dry.

Aemon wiped it with a rag and set it into its trunk with the rest of them. "I hate dishes," he said disdainfully, "My favorite part of the morning—finishing that."

"I kind of like doing dishes," I said, "It's sort of relaxing. At home I'd always watch Saturday Night Live while I do my dishes."

"What's that?"

"Uh—a variety show. Like a… circus?"

"How do you watch a circus and wash dishes at the same time?"

"Here, it'd be magic. There, it's technology. Like a mirror. A mirror that can show lots of different things, and I chose the circus show with the funny actors."

Aemon seemed dumbstruck, but recovered quickly. "I think you might be a compulsive liar," he exclaimed.

"I am not!"

"Children," Tusk said, slamming the trunk lid shut since Aemon had gotten distracted. We both jumped. "If you argue, I'll toss ya overboard. I've gotten used to your bickerin' by now, but sometimes, I grow a little tired of it."

"Sorry, Tusk," I said, truly apologetic.

Tusk burst into a giant belly laugh and lumbered out of the kitchen. Aemon just glanced at me incredulously.

"Have you talked to Ave recently?" I asked innocently.

Aemon grinned. "Yes, and no, yes yes, no no. Yes. No."

"What the heck?"

"Those were all the answers to the questions you _wanted_ to ask. I'm saving you the trouble."

"But… but…"

"But nothing!" Aemon waved a hand.

"Fine," I said. "I shall just shut down my curiosity."

Even if I could remember what was in the book, any scenario with the crew members was strictly inaccessible considering Lewis never told us what they were up to in their downtime. One sentence, for him, usually meant twelve boring days of no islands and long games of chess for us.

"What time is it?" I asked, suddenly. It was weird not really knowing. My cell phone was in my purse and shut off, obviously, and I never got the hang of telling the time of day when out on the ocean. Even a sundial may have helped.

"Approximately nine a.m.," Aemon answered. "When we _usually_ finish breakfast and our chores. Which means we have free time till lunch, as usual. What are we going to do?"

"You could sing to the chickens with me."

"I will not."

"Your loss."

"Tell me more about the circus."

"Oh… uh… they do this thing, um, where this guy named Stefon tries to explain a club—er, a place where people can dance. He always does it wrong because he's supposed to talk about a place for families to spend time together—uh—and his suggestions are never child-friendly."

"I don't see how that's funny."

"Imagine Persus, with all of his, uh—humor—trying to tell a family of badgers how to get drunk and go to a party."

"That's a funny thought."

"It's the best I can do. My memory is fuzzy."

"So that spell…"

"What—the memory spell?" I asked.

"Yes. What if the effects keep going and soon you forget everything?"

"How did you know about that?" I exclaimed.

"The _Queen _herself told me about it," Aemon said, haughtily. "You know, while you're off getting into a Lion's worth of trouble, we've actually _spoken._"

"And last night she told you about the spell?"

"She did!" Aemon said. "Not so hard to believe I could be 'friends' with your royals, is it?"

"It's not _now,_" I said. "Three weeks ago—yes. It took ages to get you to spend any time with them at all."

"You do like to dodge questions."

I giggled. "I forgot your question. Sorry? What was it?"

"What if the spell makes you forget everything? Literally everything. You just wake up one morning and—pfffff—you don't know where you are, or who you are, and you don't remember any of us?"

"The Magician would never do that to me. I was very specific about what I wanted to forget."

"But your memory is fuzzy of your old life, too. Your world. Doesn't that mean it's affecting more than what you asked for?"

"That's just the Narnia effect. The longer you are here, the harder it is to remember. Lucy could tell you better than anyone. After ruling here for god-knows how long, she couldn't remember what a wardrobe in a spare room was. Or much else from her past."

"You trust that Magician so much? And yet none of us know him."

For a moment, Aemon reminded me of Boromir in Lord of the Rings…distrusting those he should trust, like Galadriel in Lothlorien. The only evil in the golden wood was the evil brought in people's hearts, but Boromir was being overtaken by a shadow, and it clouded his view on everything else. It made Galadriel appear fearsome instead of fierce, and manipulative instead of wise.

"Why shouldn't I trust the Magician?" I said. "Lucy said Aslan appeared to them."

"If it weren't for Aslan, I wouldn't have trusted him."

"Why not?"

"Too dangerous. There is a lot of bad magic in these worlds… and who knows, but that these islands we arrive at are the last havens of evil?"

"I think the closer we get to the east, the less evil we run into."

"I wouldn't trust that. Not for the world," Aemon declared. "The only place I would say 'there is no evil' would be in Aslan's country. Not even on his _doorstep _would I say it."

"Maybe you're right. But I feel like even his doorstep would be perfect. Eastern shores, and all that."

"Maybe we'll never see it," Aemon sighed.

"Maybe the world is round!" I said. "And we'll just arrive in deep waters that turn into a river and eventually run into the Great Waterfall on the Western end of Narnia."

Aemon burst out laughing. "That's _ridiculous. _Of course there's an _edge. _You can't sail straight off and end up where you started."

"LAND HO!" came Edmund's voice.

"Oh boy!" I exclaimed, running quickly out onto the deck. Aemon was close on my heels. I looked up—Edmund and Klaire were up in the crows nest.

"How was that?" Edmund asked, sheepishly.

"Very convincing, your Majesty," laughed Klaire.

There was a dark blob on the horizon, shrouded in a gray, mid-morning fog beyond the touch of sunlight. A mountain, rising from a dark-earthed island, perhaps. I missed that warm, tropical quality of Redhaven and hoped we'd see more islands like that.

"Let us alter course and stop at this island," Caspian said. "I think it may be a long way off…"

"I think it is actually very close, your Majesty," said Drinian.

"It's the mist," Rynelf corrected. "It appears close but it's quite far from here—another day's journey, by my reckoning."

"It's the other way 'round," said Rhince, "The mist makes it appear further away than it is. We're quite close. Less than a day."

There was an awkward silence. "Is there any correct assumptions we can make?" Caspian sighed, rather tiredly. "Or perhaps theories that complement each other?"

Drinian frowned. "We three are the _professional _seaman among all here. And we've rarely disagreed something such as this."

"I'm a professional, too," Klaire called down from the crow's nest, his tone sarcastic. "Thank-you for including me, Captain."

"Oh, you're welcome," Drinian snapped back.

"I want to alter course," repeated Caspian. "Make it happen."

Drinian put on his Captain voice. "All hands to stations!" Everyone began to spread about busily. Tusk shrugged and went back to the kitchen. He obeyed the orders even when he could be excluded.

Jekyll and Neil went for the tiller. Flanagan, Ave, and Aemon began to make their way half-up the rope ladders to adjust knots, ropes, and sails. Baron, Bastian, and Orpheus pulled the ropes from the deck, which in turn guided the sail slightly to our left so that the wind would push us in the right direction. Reepicheep rushed for the Dragon's Head for the view.

Rynelf walked over to me and handed me a small box. I stood there holding it for quite some time before he returned, laughing hysterically, and took it back. Apparently there was nothing in the box. He just wanted to see how gullible I was and if I would believe it important enough to stand and hold for ten minutes without question. But I heard him say to Drinian—some time later—that I was very good at following orders, which would make a 'fine sailor of me yet'. For that, it was almost worth the tired arms.

And it turned out, Rynelf was right. By his 'reckoning', we reached the island—or what we thought was an island—by the next morning. When we seemed quite close—a football field's length away, I think—we awoke the nightcrawlers, and they began to row.

But as we grew closer, the more apparent it became that it was not what it seemed. There was a strange silence, very unlike what usually happened when we were close to an island. There was no tide pulling us in or out. No birdsong, no wind among trees. There was sunlight, as far as the darkness. And that is all it was. Darkness.

As if a tunnel had been opened, a portal to a world with no sunlight. There wasn't an edge, and no one could really tell quite where the darkness began and the sunlight ended, only that the darkness was sort of like a fog that came right to the top of the water. It was not a cloud, nor substance. It was absence.

A void.

"Keep her back," Caspian said. In a low voice, he spoke to Drinian and Edmund. "Do we go into this?"

"Not by my advice," Drinian rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never seen anything like it. I say so only because—whatever we face—we do not have expertise nor experience in the matter."

"The Captain's right!" Neil said, nervously.

"I almost think he is," Edmund said.

Eustace, Lucy, and I shared a look. We were all thinking the same thing. _Heck to the no we don't wana go nowhere near dat thing. _

Well—I mean—their thoughts probably sounded more like, _By Jove, that blackness is simply horrid! I DO hope they see reason and keep us far from it!_

"And why not?!" Reepicheep said loudly, standing on the railing for a better view, with one tiny paw on his hilt. "Will someone please explain to me why not?" No one answered. "I would presume that this suggestion comes from cowardice, but I hope it will never be told in Narnia that a company of noble persons turned and fled simply because they were afraid of a little dark!"

"What use is there to sail on into darkness when it isn't night?" Drinian argued, practical as usual.

"Use?" Reepicheep repeated. "What use is this voyage? We go to seek the Lords, through honor and adventure, if we turn back, we are dishonored!"

"Honor be blowed," snorted someone from below deck. Probably Persus.

"Oh, bother you, Reepicheep," Caspian said, throwing up his hands with exasperation. "I almost wish we'd left you at home. But I suppose we'll go on—unless—the Queen Lucy would rather not."

"Very clever excuse," I whispered to Edmund.

But Lucy surprised us all when she shrugged, shared one more glance with Eustace, and said with a small voice, "I'm game."

"All right," Caspian said with understandable reluctance. "Captain, push us onward. Order lanterns."

"Lights!" barked Drinian. This time, I was able to help. Eustace gave Pan a hand putting the lanterns in their place, hanging them from a variety of things, and removing the glass plates from the ones already built into the railing. I made my way around to each one with the match to light them. The flames flickered lamely in the sunshine.

After some thought, Caspian straightened and looked very determined. "Battle stations," he commanded. "We do not know what we walk into. Arm yourselves. Drinian, to the tiller. Edmund, with me. Rynelf, prepare to take soundings. We do not want to run aground by accident. Lucy, Pan, to the poop deck, arrows at ready."

Lucy rushed into the cabin to retrieve her bow and arrows. Edmund went below deck, and came back some time later with mail, a helmet, and shield. Rhince followed, bearing Caspian's mail and armor, and helped him into it.

Everyone else drew their swords, and looked alert, into the nothingness.

Rather than being enveloped by the darkness as we do when going into a fog, it was more like we pushed into an alternate reality. The darkness closed overhead, and the lamplight cast a faint, yellow glow down onto dark green waters. The darkness around us was a slate, sickly gray, and beyond the gray, blackness.

I looked over my shoulder, and the darkness had closed in behind us. There was no opening that led back out into the sunshine like I hoped. The temperature dropped to an icy cold, and our breath came out in clouds.

The silence was broken by an unearthly scream. No one knew where it came from—only that it was somewhere beyond us. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I reached over and clutched Edmund's arm, who was standing quite close to me.

"Who—who is there?" Caspian said, bravely.

There was a second scream, the kind that no one knows how it sounds till you make it yourself. One that tears your fears right out of you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. Everyone on board seemed to shiver at once.

"If you are foe, we do not fear you," shouted Reepicheep from the bow. "And if you are friend, your enemies shall be taught to fear us!"

"Mercy!" shrieked the voice. A man's voice, one so shrill and terrified that it almost sounded alien. "Even if you are only one more dream, please, take me on board! Even if you strike me down—I beg you! Do not leave me in this horrible land!"

"Where are you?" called Caspian. "Come aboard, and welcome!"

The Person gave a startled cry, one both of joy and terror. There was a splash, somewhere near us, perhaps thirty feet past the wall of blankness. Someone choking on the water could be heard, growing closer, and closer.

Two pale arms came out of the water, and a skeletal face hidden in a mane of hair and a choppy beard soon followed. The malnourished-looking man was swimming desperately towards the ship, blinking in our dim lantern light as if it was the first fire he'd seen in years.

"Heave him up, Gentlemen," Caspian commanded.

"Aye Aye, your Majesty!"

Pan and Orpheus rushed forward with the ropes and the floating plank. They tossed it out, and when the poor man clutched it with white knuckles, they began to reel him in. Then they threw the rope over the pulley, giving the man a lift up the side of the ship and over the railing.

The man collapsed in a heap, wearing dirty rags and no shoes. He was sobbing, face first, touching the deck with his palms as if it were the shores of Aslan's country itself.

"I've never seen a wilder looking man," Edmund whispered.

"You've never seen Portland," I whispered back.

Caspian knelt beside the man, and tentatively, put his hand towards the man's back. "Sir," he said gently, "We have a physician aboard, if you need…"

As soon as he felt Caspian's hand, the man gasped as if he'd nearly drowned. He launched himself to his feet, waving his hands crazily.

"Take your oars and flee this cursed place!" he shrieked. "Fly, fly, fly! Fly from this place! Save yourselves and have mercy! I beg you! Row and save your lives from this accursed shore!"

"Compose yourself," Reepicheep said, rather unsympathetically, scampering down the railing and jumping down to the man's level. "We do not fly. Tell us what the danger is."

"You must fly!" said the man, eyes round as he beheld the Mouse. He dropped to his knees and looked closely, even Reepicheep flinched a little at the man's proximity. "Dear Mouse. Hear me. This is the island where _dreams come true,_" he said hoarsely.

"That's the island I've been looking for all my life," grinned Bastian.

"I'd reckon I'd find myself married to Nancy on this island," Baron agreed.

Ave leaned against the railing for support. "I'd find Tom alive again," he whispered. I glanced over at him, and shook my head. _Don't do that to yourself, Ave. _

He looked back at me, and his shoulders sagged. He knew that was against the fabric of nature… against magic, against Aslan. We wouldn't find Robin alive on these shores. It would be a trick, an illusion.

My dreams wouldn't work in darkness such as this. I can't find myself published and traveling to libraries in New York for signings if I'm still in Narnia.

"FOOLS!" screamed the man. "Not daydreams! Not your desires or your wishes! Listening to such folly is how I came to be here—it would have been better if I had been killed, or had never been born! There are where dreams come to life—not daydreams! Dreams!"

There was a moment of silence. Every dream—nightmare—that I'd ever had sprung suddenly to mind. Not just fears, but the fears that manifested themselves into the sorts of dreams that awake you in the night, gasping for breath and shooting straight out of bed like they do in Hollywood movies. Which you'd think can't happen, but they really can…

_Tornados. Zombies. Tsunamis. Blood. The gravitational pull of the Earth breaking and sending us into the sun… _my worst two I tried to keep suppressed, and not even think about them.

I turned to Edmund—he was pale, and trembling. Perhaps from the cold.

I remembered the time the witch came back… in the tomb of Aslan, only a shadow of her existence from the black magic. Edmund had destroyed the image, and then went outside and threw up. I remembered what his greatest fear was… Jadis.

And by the look on his face, he did too.

"Swing the tiller 'round," Caspian barked. He called down to the rowers. "Boatswain, battle stroke! Everyone be alert!"

Zacharius began to call a fast-paced _stroke, stroke _to the rowers, and Drinian himself took the tiller to turn us the opposite direction.

The crazy man collapsed on the deck, shaking.

"This is crazy, all this panic!" Reepicheep declared obstinately.

"There are some dreams no man can face," Caspian said, his voice shaky. I agreed wholeheartedly.

The ship swung slowly around, and began pushing towards where we came. But there wasn't any sunlight to guide us, and as the seconds drew into long minutes, and the minutes into a half hour, we were beginning to wonder if there was no escape.

Panic began to trickle throughout the crew, like the first raindrops of a storm.

"He's steering us in circles," I heard Herring say gruffly down below.

"I'll say," agreed Persus. You know things are bad when those two agree on anything.

Everyone was trying not to listen to the silence out on the water, but we couldn't help it. We could not keep up useless chatter and our ears were straining for the sounds of our nightmares that we hoped would not surface.

"Do you hear that?" whispered Rynelf, standing up on the poop deck, next to Lucy. Her hands were trembling as she held her bow and arrow, still alert and ready to shoot anything. "Something is crawling up the sides of the ship…" he looked over the railing, eyes wide. I didn't hear anything, and by Lucy's expression, neither did she.

Eustace was pressed against the ladder, forehead beginning to shine with sweat. "I hear scissors somewhere. A huge pair, opening and shutting… right there…" he pointed off, into nothing.

"Don't worry," I said shakily, "Perhaps it's a pair of crafting scissors. The dull kinds that make zig zag patterns for homemade cards." He merely shuddered in reply, and I wonder if I did not make it worse for him somehow.

Edmund was staring in front of him, making eye-contact with nothing. "No," he said, suddenly. "You're not really there. You _can't _be there." He was backing up. I was fairly certain he was hallucinating an image of the witch. "_NO,_" he repeated.

Caspian suddenly jolted, ducked, and looked up, the way someone does when a bat or a bird swoops over ones head much too closely. "It's going to land on the mast! Shoot it down!" but he barely spoke above a whisper, and no one heard.

"Ugh," I heard Tusk mutter, standing in the galley door. "The gongs are beginning. I knew they would."

"We're never going to get out!" Geoff shouted from below deck. "We're trapped here!"

Trapped? Trapped was an illusion. I felt free, sort of like when you realize you're dreaming. _Crap, I guess it's my turn now. _Narnia was merely a speck of dust—forgotten, swept away, nonexistent. I wasn't in Narnia anymore. Narnia wasn't even real to me. This brown carpet was real. These pictures on the wall were real. I suppose… this strange hallway, that I walked down without sound, was real as well. I didn't question how I got here.

_What a lovely house_, I thought, looking at the white walls. I smelled coffee brewing in the kitchen. I saw a woman, working on a computer.

A man poked his head through the door. "Can you stop writing?" he asked, annoyed. "We're late. _Again._" He was wearing the whole khaki and polo ensemble, carrying a purchased coffee in one hand and a guitar case in the other. _Why bother to make the man coffee when he insists on spending about 20 dollars a week at Starbucks? _I thought, angrily. Apparently it was a sore subject.

"I just need to finish this scene," said the person in the chair. "It's sort of a monologue. I need the reader to sympathize with the villain—just a little—so that his redemption isn't a total surprise."

"No one cares," the man snapped. "If you never finish anything, no one will read it. Let's go."

"Just go without me," she replied, stiffly.

"Oh, sorry," he said sarcastically, "I didn't realize I married a recluse who hated having a life."

"I don't hate having a life, I just hate _you_," she snarled, turning around in her office chair. Of course it was me, sitting there with baggy eyes and a sour expression. Figures.

And as suddenly as the strange vision began, it was over. I was blinking in the darkness aboard the Dawn Treader again.

"Okay—mine—is over," I gasped. "We can all go about our business. This is the part where—uh—" I went back to my old habits, thinking about what happened in the book. Nothing. For all I knew, the book never existed or the pages were blank. I didn't know what was going to happen. I would assume no one died, but I'd already experienced the disappointment of that assumption.

"Eustace, Edmund," I said, pleadingly. They were both in the throes of their own fears, moving spastically about. "Listen. It'll pass. Mine did."

But for only a minute, apparently. I stopped focusing on the Pevensies long enough to tune into screams of panic and mayhem all over. People running, jumping, and trying to avoid invisible pursuers.

Well, I seemed to escape from my second-most fear unscathed. That wasn't too bad, just like sleeping uncomfortably. I hoped the rest of the crew would soon follow suit. All the disjointed sounds of sheer terror seemed to fall straight out of horror film.

It occurred to me that Wild Crazy Man didn't become so Wild and Crazy just by having one uncomfortable dream the moment he stepped on shore. When it passed, he did not pat himself on the back (such as I did) and live happily in the blackness till our arrival. His nightmares would have come in waves, such as the sea is supposed to. Experiencing fears over and over, the island hiding somewhere in the fogbank beyond creating and recreating scenarios out of every nightmare he had ever had. Maybe I wasn't finished yet…

I suddenly heard a sharp sound, like the sword being drawn from the sheath at the beginning of every Merlin episode. It would have made me grin with nostalgia except for the feeling that followed soon after. There was a stinging sensation—sort of like a lemon and paper-cut combination—across my neck. I tried to glance down, and couldn't see, and put my hands to my neck. They were instantly moist with something warm, and thick. My throat has been slit somehow—_no it isn't! It's your imagination! _But I could feel it—_don't think about it! Just ignore it! _I'm didn't want to die—_you're not going to die, idiot. Do you really think an invisible foe just cut your throat? And is chasing Eustace with a giant pair of pink craft scissors? Or that there is a giant bird hovering around Caspian? _

I knew what it felt to not breath, but this was different. I started coughing, but I was choking—my hands were dripping with dark red blood—_Don't think about it! You know what happens when you think about it! _

_Oops. _Passing out is a peculiar sensation, if anyone else knows what it feels like. There is one side of your brain having a protest, saying _no! Don't faint! Stay awake! _And then the other side of your brain tries to rationalize. _You're not 'falling', not really. You're just sitting quickly. Actually, to be HONEST, you're not really sitting. The floor is coming to YOU. You don't even have to move. The floor will get to you as quickly as possible. And my, aren't those eyelids heavy? Better close them and save your energy! _

So, I faint when I get injured. Whatever. No one is a perfect feminist. Like the time a woodcarving-pocketknife incident went awry and my father found me lying on the bathroom floor. "Are you fainting?!" he exclaimed.

"I was… trying… to make a flute…" I had replied. "I… am just… sitting… and resting…" Aaaaaand then my dad caught my head before it slammed into the linoleum. It's funny in retrospect, okay?

But my brain couldn't rationalize this away. _Sleeeepy tiiiiime…_

And then out of nowhere, Aemon was there, pinching my chin and shaking my head uncomfortably from side to side. "Wake up, wake _up,_" he snapped.

My eyes popped open. I had fallen back against the deck, and was sitting on the boards, holding my neck and trying to take a breath. After several tries, I could breathe again, and took in huge, gulping gasps. "Aren't—you—afraid—of anything?" I panted.

"Just of you taking my job," Aemon replied sarcastically. "And that's a fear I can deal with, thanks."

I looked down at myself. There wasn't any blood on my hands or on my clothes. _That's veeery interesting… _My Jack Sparrow rationale was entirely satisfied with the abrupt change in my state of mortal injury. I gave a nonplussed nod. _Fancy that._

Aemon held out his hand, and offered it to me. When I reached for him, he suddenly withdrew his hand, looking at it suspiciously as if overcome with arthritis.

"What is it?" I asked, knowing full well.

He made a paranoid twitch, and tilted his head, the way someone does when a bee flies too close to one's ear. "I'm sorry," he said distractedly. Waving his hand at his ear, and shaking his head again, he walked with a jolt back into the galley.

That's when I noticed Edmund had drawn his sword.

"Edmund!" I shouted.

I snapped him out of—whatever _it_ was—and he blinked. He was looking around, wildly. "She was here," he said. "She _was _here."

"No, she wasn't, nothing is," I said.

Edmund glanced down at me, and knelt down, taking my hands and puling me to my feet. "You okay?"

I cleared my throat. It sort of ached. "Yeah. Well—now that I'm not dying anymore. You?"

"Yeah. Lucy?"

"Fine, fine," she called from above, her voice a little shrill.

The sailors were growing louder down below. Everyone was suffering hallucinations of some kind, to a nearly unbearable degree.

Even Edmund was starting to grow distracted again. He kept looking over his shoulder suddenly, as if his hallucination had returned and tapped him on the shoulder for his attention. Was this would it be like? Experiencing our most vivid dreams for the rest of our lives? With relief only from the breaking of our concentration for a mere minute?

"Edmund, there's no one there," I assured.

"Leave me alone," snarled Edmund, but it wasn't to me.

"Aslan," Lucy's pure voice whispered into the mayhem, "If you ever loved us… help us now…"

A beam of light shot out of the sky, where some clouds had parted and given way to a divine shaft of sunlight. Nearly everyone was hushed by it, and focused on the bright, golden glow. It was like a searchlight in a harbor, blinding us, and yet we couldn't look away. Our own shadows shot out behind us like black memories from the hallucinations that didn't really exist. Funny how peace can come when one stops looking forward and just looks upward.

We were awed into silence until Rynelf hoarsely cried out, "Look!"

Out of the hole in the sky, came a call sort of like a seagull, and a white bird flew out, wide wings spread and feathers glistening almost iridescently.

"What is that?" I asked.

"An albatross," came Drinian's voice from the tiller. Aemon was at the galley door again, staring with a peaceful look I'd never really seen on his face before.

The bird was massive, and while I knew albotrosses were supposed to be the clumsiest bird alive, this one was as graceful as it was regal. It flew in a wide circle, around the mast. Klaire, in his nest, was entranced by it.

_Courage, dear heart, _said a voice inside my head. It wasn't mine.

Two more times it circled—and when the third was complete—it settled on the cross-section, just above the deep purple sail.

It let out a shrill call once more, and the darkness lifted gradually, like a shade being slowly drawn up by a string.

The darkness was gray, and then deep blue, and then bright blue.

It was the best of days on the Eastern sea, full of sunshine, white puffy clouds spread generously across the expanse, the ocean waves of aquamarine white-capped by waves and currents. The wind filled up the sail till the ropes strained and creaked.

Lucy came running down to the deck, launching herself at us. I hugged her, and Edmund both, and managed to grab a fistful of Eustace's sweater to force him to join in the group hug. The ship echoed with cheers and handshakes all 'round.

"I reckon we've made pretty big fools of ourselves," Rynelf said. _My goodness, sir, you're so talkative in this chapter! I swear you haven't really said anything during the entire voyage! _

Reepicheep acknowledged this with a smug nod. "I still think it could have been faced."

"You are a very strange mouse," Orpheus growled deeply.

The wild man was leaning over the railing, eyes wide and mouth gasping. "You've… you've destroyed it. The dark island. It is gone."

"I don't think it was us," Lucy said, glancing up at the mast.

The albatross had disappeared.

The crazy man turned around, and realized all attention had returned to him. "Forgive me," he said, "It has been so long—since—never mind that—I cannot speak of That Place. I am free—I cannot thank you enough. Let me introduce myself. When… when I was a man worth anything, my name was the Lord Rhoop, and I am a Telmarine of Narnia. I owe you my life." He knelt in a grateful bow.

Caspian strode forward, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I am King Caspian, of Narnia," he introduced, happily, "and I sail to find you, and your companions, my father's friends who were banished by Miraz."

"Oh, you are! You are! It is like your father's voice and face. I ought to have recognized you instantly," the wild-haired Lord Rhoop began to cry big happy tears, and he kissed Caspian's hand. "Grant me leave to stay aboard your ship and never return to That Place."

"It is granted. Come. Tusk will prepare you a meal and we shall find you clean clothes. Are you injured?"

"Only in my spirit, your Majesty, my Sovereign and Rescuer—but that will mend with time. Thanks to the Lion. I could die of happiness."

"Don't die yet, we just found you," Caspian said quickly. He led Lord Rhoop into the galley, and several of the sailors followed.

Drinian called down to the rowers. "Men, to your hammocks, and get some sleep," he shouted. Herring looked up, the sunlight making square patterns through the grating on his face. "Sir," he said, hesitantly, "My conduct in the darkness—my doubt of the King and your…"

"It is done," Drinian interrupted. "I will not hold you accountable for it."

Herring nodded, though he probably would have felt reasonably punished if he had been dealt fifty lashings or at _least _a scolding. Persus rolled his eyes as he went by, and then looked up at me.

I took a step back from the edge. It's hard not to eavesdrop when there is a hole in the middle of the deck.

"You all right, everyone?" I addressed my darling Pevensie children instead.

"Yes, yes I am," Lucy declared happily. "It—it was Aslan. I'm sure of it. This isn't relief we're all feeling—it is joy. That doesn't come from simply sailing out of bad waters."

"I think she is right," Eustace agreed. "I don't… I've never experienced anything like that before. Okay, I mean, I met Him, when I was saved from being a dragon… but it was that same feeling. A sort of lifting."

"Edmund? Anything?" I asked.

Edmund smiled, though it was a tired smile. "I'm fine."

"Just 'fine'?" Lucy repeated.

"I saw the white witch, and she said things, things I won't soon forget," Edmund replied, wincing as if it caused physical pain. "No matter how many times Aslan has saved me from her—the memories are always there. Now I have new ones."

"She is just a scar," I said. "Without her, you would not have met Aslan. He will always trump everything. For every bad memory, he gives you a dozen good ones. For every danger, he has saved you. Good always wins over evil."

"Tell that to my mind," Edmund tapped his head. "I know it, but I don't feel it."

Lucy took his hand. "But none of it was real. You're here with us now."

"Yeah," Edmund nodded, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "And it's over. That's what I've got to focus on."

"You, Pippin?" asked Lucy.

"I'm fine," I quoted, grinning.

"Uh huh," Lucy squinted suspiciously at me.

"I hit my head on the deck," I said, feeling the back of my head where I would certainly have a bruise later. "Even the fainting part was in my imagination. But other than that, I'm fine. See?" I lifted my chin. "No decapitation here. And no unsupportive husband trapping me in a mediocre, suburban life. So I'm pretty much the happiest lark here."

"Those are your two greatest fears? Getting your head chopped off and being normal?" Eustace said, in surprise. "I would think I'd rather have one than the other."

"You want your head chopped off?" I pretended to be shocked and disgusted.

"No, I want a mediocre husband!" Eustace exclaimed.

Pan was walking by and suddenly turned, giving Eustace a very confused look. Before Eustace could explain, Pan shrugged and went on towards the galley.

Edmund, Lucy, and I were laughing so hard we were crying.

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**Next chapter: The end of the voyage is nigh, but first, a little starlight.**

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**Thanks for reading, everyone. Much love to all!**

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**Mblimey: **I am going to be sad when it ends, too. :(

**ClarinetRox88: **Hug!

**Guest: **Definitely one of my favorite reviews. Very… basic.

**Softballgirl: **Lots of nerdy references for you in this chapter! Have fun!

**Lady Courage: **I guess it does seem like a fast argument patch-up, but that's how I fixed things with my friend, so I was just writing from experience. We were literally just like, "I'm sorry we argued, you?" "Yeah, me too" "Still friends?" "Did you think you were going to get rid of me so easily?" "I guess not."

**Jewel In a Crown: **The age difference wouldn't be so weird if we were all a decade older, haha! But while Pippin is 20 in this book and I'm imagining Edmund is 17, that does pose a definite awkwardness!

And I'm glad you loved Coriakin, I love him too!

**KoKD94123: **Aw I'm so glad I motivate you :) What a compliment! Keep writing! Get a tumblr account!

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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:

For those of you who were fans of my (very old) Mary Sam series, the sequel: "Mary Sam 2: The War of the Ring" is officially OFF hiatus. The writers block is ended and I am working on the next chapter.


	21. Within Starlight and Sunrises

**Dearest Readers,**

**We are very near to the end, but I hope to stretch it out for another four chapters I think. I am as reluctant to leave the story as I was reluctant to leave Narnia. There are more fan fiction adventures to be had, but none quite so… personal and poignant as this one. I hope you guys will follow me to other tales of adventure or to my blog—because as much as I hate leaving Narnia, I hate leaving my readers even more. Your support has always meant so much. Ugh, this is starting to feel like a goodbye! Nope, nope, nope, not yet. I'll save it for the **_**real **_**end. **

**Love,**

**Pip**

**PS: See the end of the chapter for personal replies to your reviews**

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**Strange Things Happen**

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**Chapter 21**

**Within Starlight and Sunrises**

Lucy and I were just settling into bed when there came a rap on the door.

"Yes?" we said in unison.

"It's warm out tonight," came Caspian's voice. "If you'd like, you can come sleep out on the deck."

Lucy and I glanced at each other, grinning. "That sounds marvelous," Lucy said, instantly slipping her feet out and into a pair of slippers. "I was just wondering if it was going to get stuffy."

I was already uncomfortably hot but hadn't wanted to complain, so I was glad for the alternative. We opened our door, and Caspian swooped in, grasping the mattress to pull it out onto the deck. I helped grab the other side (feather beds are, though small, ridiculously _heavy) _and helped maneuver it. As we pushed it through the door I kept yelling "Pivot! Pivot!" much to Caspian's annoyance and Lucy's amusement.

We finally got it out the door and let it fall with a _thmp, _and Lucy and I pushed it out of the walkway by the base of the mast. Twilight was falling over a gold and crimson sunset, and all around the ship, people were bringing out their blankets and pillows. Some were trying to string up their hammocks from the mast to the railing and not having much luck.

"You know you lot still need to give us some room to make the ship sail on," Geoff said, slightly crankily.

"You'll have plenty of room," Aemon replied. "Just think of it as an obstacle course."

("Do they have obstacle courses regularly in Narnia?" I whispered to Lucy.)

"If I step on someone's face, I hope it's yours."

"Have a little respect for each other, Men of Narnia," Reepicheep scolded down from the crow's nest, where he was perched with Klaire. "You sound like children."

"The nightcrawlers are not very noisy… usually," I told Lucy, "They don't yell and scream at each other like day crew does. We'll sleep fine."

Lucy let herself fall face-down into the feather mattress with a happy sigh. I flopped down beside her and we draped a thin sheet over us. The air was tangy with sea-salt, and the rocking motion as we hit a few choppy waters died down to nothing. In fact, the ship ceased rocking altogether.

"This is a strange feeling," I heard Caspian whisper. "Almost as if we walk on land again. What is it?"

"No waves," Drinian replied in a queer tone. "Look at the bow. It looks like glass out there."

There were whispers and snickers long into the night. No one minded being awake, and though they worked all day, none of the crew felt very tired. In fact, everyone lounging and stargazing seemed to satisfy a desire for rest and sleeping seemed unnecessary. The Lord Rhoop, still scarred and fearful from his living on the nightmare island, took to sleeping in the belly of the ship and coming out only for meals. He had no desire to look over the railing and feel the fresh air.

It was the same the next night, and the next. For several days, we pulled our sleeping materials out onto deck and laid under the stars. We began to see constellations that the Narnians had never seen before. The last recognizable ones were a badger, a cornucopia, and something that looked exactly like Orion's Belt, but they called it The Faun and his Bow. After those, the constellations were so bright that our resident star-chart-artists Pan and Teeth could hardly pinpoint which were stars and which were planets in the far sky. Sometimes the moon dipped so low to the horizon it looked like we might be able to sail to the edge of the world and then bump into the rocky crevices on the sides. I brought out my sketchbook and tried to help them as best I could, but they remained mathematically disproportioned and they couldn't find much use for them. I did feel some gratification, though, when they took my papers and added them to the scrolls in Drinian's cabin for "historic reference". At least I'd leave something behind—

With a pang, I felt that the closer we drew to the edge of the earth, the closer my end would be. After my thoughtless removal of future knowledge, I had no clue when that end might come or if I would have a chance to say goodbye. They didn't get to say goodbye on _their _first adventure. What if the same thing happened to me?

One night, our mattress and hammocks lay abandoned as we all stared over the bow, mouths hanging open and eyes reflecting orange. The sunset was so _largely _incredible, the highest of the heights in deep crimson and purple, and stars were twinkling out of the depths. The lower sky, meeting the edge of the sea, looked to be on fire and the flames were whipped clouds instead of embers and coals. "I feel like if I turn my back," I said out loud, "That sky is just going to turn into a giant tsunami and wipe us all out with molten gold."

Caspian, always the people-pleaser, nodded fervently. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?"

"I'd be a rich man if a wave of gold hit me," Rhince said, bitterly.

"Land ho!" cried Klaire.

It happened upon us so suddenly that Caspian and Drinian instantly recalculated the speed of the Treader—the smooth sailing over these waters were causing us to go much faster than usual. They measured things in knots or something… I don't recall, but I would have placed us—for readers who aren't sailors—around thirty-five miles per hour. That's pretty fast for a sailing ship of this size, I think.

The island was a large one, perhaps another small continent, and we drew up against the black rocks of the coast within minutes. It had gently sloping hills, no jagged-edged mountains. If anything, it reminded me of pictures I had seen of the Ireland coast, with emerald grasses carpeted down the embankments to the dark coastal beaches, mostly made of gravel and tide pools and not of sand.

A pleasant smell was coming from the island, but we couldn't tell if it was natural or produced by human hands. It could have been a type of flower, or perhaps a type of crop, but either way we all took a deep breath and couldn't determine what it was.

"It's a dim, purple sort of smell," Lucy described.

Edmund chuckled and shook his head, and Rhince rolled his eyes.

"I know what you mean," Caspian said kindly, and he gave Edmund a look that reminded me distinctly of Peter Pevensie.

We sailed around the cape, docked in a shallow bay, and after a long and hazardous rowing (the water was so shallow that we had to walk the last several yards out of the water and onto shore) we clambered out of the gentle waves and onto the gravel, which instantly gave way to a grassy hill covered in short, flowering brushes.

"Ooh, heather," said Lucy, picking one of the flowers.

"That's not heather," Eustace said quickly. At our looks, he said quickly, "I study a lot. You know, in the old life. Insects and plants—I have a good memory of botany."

"I've told ye got an eye fer herbology," I croaked in a Mad-Eye-Moody voice.

"What's herbology?" asked

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Study of herbs?"

As we came into the middle of the field, thirty-foot gray figures rose into the distance, nestled in the valley of two slopes like the one we trekked now. Reepicheep and Edmund drew their swords.

"Perhaps they are giants," Edmund said in a low tone.

"Best way to find out is to go among them!" declared Reepicheep, scampering far ahead of us.

"Best to be prepared, of course," Caspian said to me, "But I am getting the feeling we shall meet no danger here."

"They're towers," Lucy said chidingly, calling ahead to the Mouse. "Perhaps ruins. But they aren't giants."

We came into a wide, rectangular space, paved with flagstones, and surrounded on all sides by the tall gray pillars. There was no roof overhead, it was more like a Greek ruin from the history books. It could have been a courtyard long ago.

In the center, there was a table laden with food on plates and platters, with goblets and pitchers and ridiculous displays of fruit and vegetables coming out of cornucopias and baskets. One end of it was completely covered in some sort of bramble, but the end closest to us remained clear and the food looked as fresh as if it had been set out minutes ago.

"A feast fit for kings," said Drinian gruffly.

"Where are the guests, then?" Eustace asked.

"We can provide that," Rhince said quickly.

Everyone standing behind him, Ave, Neil, Bastian, and the rest, (the nightcrawlers, Tusk, Rynelf, Baron, Bastian, Orpheus for a guard, and the Lord Rhoop remained on board) all seemed to murmur their assent. The feast looked too good to pass up, and everyone was getting a little tired of the dried vegetables, canned goods, and crated fruit.

"Look at those," Edmund pointed quickly to the things I had thought were bramble growing over the end of the table.

"Beavers!" squeaked Lucy. "Or… or not," she added, disappointedly. We stepped through the pillars and came around the edges of the table, examining the big piles of tangled hair, much like enchanted ivy that had died and turned brown, or alfalfa for horses after the bale had been broken apart.

There were three men seated at the table, sleeping with their heads in their plates, their hair growing so long that they had all intermingled with each other and created a giant bird's nest. Reepicheep leaped onto the table, dancing nimbly between cups and plates, till he was close enough to poke one of the sleeper's on top of the head.

"These will not fight, I think," he declared.

"Are they dead?" Caspian asked.

Reepicheep lifted, with some effort, one of the hands concealed under the piles of hair. "I think not. The hand is warm, sire, and a pulse remains."

Drinian checked the other two. "And the same here."

"They're only asleep?" asked Eustace.

"That's a bloody long lie-in," Edmund pointed out, "If their hair grew while they slept."

"Or they belong to a club of exceptionally long beards," I said, "And they meet for a monthly meeting and will sometimes fall asleep while discussing their beards."

Neil snorted. As the baldest man on board, he couldn't imagine anyone discussing hair for a length of time whatsoever.

"If it is an enchanted sleep, then perhaps we are here to break the spell," Lucy pointed out. "It wouldn't be the first time Aslan sent Narnians to break an enchantment…"

"We can try," Caspian said. With a rather adorable naivety, his solution was to walk to the nearest sleeper and shake his shoulders soundly, saying, "HELLO? HELLO? SIR?"

"I'll go eastward no more," whispered the man in his sleep, "Out oars for Narnia…" then he let out a loud snore. The other two rendered the same result, "Get to the east," said the second, and the third said, "Pass the mustard."

"I'm sorry, but they have _mustard _in Narnia?" I whispered to Eustace.

"I was just thinking the same thing! No Consul, but they have _mustard_!" Eustace giggled.

"No telegrams, but they have _mustard!"_ I chortled.

Caspian was examining the rings on the hands that Reepicheep had extracted from the hair. "These are their insignias," Caspian said, his voice betraying the depth of relief that he was feeling at this moment. "These are our last three lords. This is the Lord Revilian, the Lord Argoz, and the Lord Mavramorn." He set the last hand down, back onto the table. "Our journey has been successful," he sighed, grinning slowly.

"Begging your Majesty's pardon," Rhince said, "But it isn't every day where a feast like this appears—perhaps we could…"

"Not on your LIFE!" declared Caspian loudly. "It is, certainly, the food that is enchanted! Unless you don't want to return to Narnia, of course?"

"That's right," Jekyll said from the back. "That food'll introduce you to eternal sleep, it will."

"Quite right," chimed in the rest. Pan shook his head as if he knew something everyone else was too blind to notice.

"There's too much magic here," offered Aemon. "We'd best get back on board as soon as possible."

"Depend upon it, that the food causes an enchanted sleep," agreed Reepicheep, and no one bothered to argue, "But the decision of returning to the ship still lies with the King."

Aemon turned red. "Right…"

"Back to the ship, anyhow," muttered Ave.

"They may be right," Edmund stepped out of hearing-distance to have a small conference with Caspian. "We can't go too much good here while it is growing much darker and we are not familiar with the area yet… We can return in the morning if there is no point in staying tonight. I think—though it might just be me—the whole places _smells _of magic and danger. We can at least send the girls back."

Caspian glanced over his shoulder at us. In unison, Lucy and I crossed our arms over our chests and gave him defiant expressions. _We DARE you to try and send us back, your Worshipfulness. _

"You know I appreciate your advice above all others," Caspian replied quietly, "And while I am at a loss for what to do, I think it is your plan that we will follow. We can return in the morning." To the crew, he said loudly, "We shall return to the ship for nightfall, and my officers and I will return tomorrow and determine what to do with our sleeping lords."

The crew muttered with relief.

"I agree with your opinion as it applies to the ship's company," Reepicheep said shrilly, "But I myself—with your majesties agreement—will stay at this table till sunrise."

"Why on earth?" erupted Eustace.

"This is an adventure," Reepicheep replied, "And no danger seems as great as knowing that I may return to Narnia and had ignored this mystery out of mere fear."

"Well, once you put it that way, O Mouse of many words," I said grimly.

"I'll stay, then," Edmund said. "If you want to."

"And I," Caspian said.

"And me," Lucy said.

"And me," Eustace said.

"Good on you, Eus," said Edmund, patting his shoulder. "You _are _brave."

Eustace looked as if he had just been handed the whole world. He had rarely, if ever, received praise from the cousin that he clearly idolized and had disguised those feelings with dislike and jealousy. Being complimented by him for something as foreign as bravery was probably the best thing anyone could say to him. On that thought alone, he could probably do great things in his life. Whether or not he returned to Narnia.

I realized that the sailors were gloomily walking out of the plaza, having nodded curt goodbyes to us as if they expected to find our bodies in the morning. Drinian and Caspian were having a heated argument—Caspian wanted to stay, Drinian wanted Caspian to return to the ship, with the reason of "you are not expendable to our country".

Lucy and Edmud were both looking at me.

"Are you going with them, Pippin?" Lucy asked, pointing at the disappearing backs of the sailors.

"Coming, or what?" Aemon called back.

I started to form some excuse of Tusk needing me in the kitchen. I wasn't afraid of the dark, just afraid of what might be waiting in it. "Uh, yes, I mean," I said. I looked at Edmund with a half-hearted smile. "Well, there you have it. Future knowledge erasure shows you my true colors. I'm a coward."

"You're not a coward," Reepicheep exclaimed loudly.

"Maybe not," I said, wringing my hands. "Um—Aemon—make my excuses to Tusk. Sorry…" my palms were sweaty. "Uh—I'll stay. It seems worse to return and wonder what is happening here. I'd rather see it instead of hearing about it."

Edmund smiled. "I didn't doubt you for a second."

"I do," I replied.

The sailors began disappearing towards the bay.

"We will return for you at dawn," Drinian said gruffly, and he was the last to leave.

We settled around the table, finding places to sit nearer to the sleepers than we would have liked (their presence was quite eerie) but not to close to the end of the table, which would place us uncomfortably close to the edge of the plaza, and therefore, the darkness beyond. Caspian had lit a tiny lantern and set in on the table.

It was nearly ten o'clock, and that fiery sunset had burned away unnoticed. The strange new constellations burned in odd shapes, and the clouds almost had a greenish tint where the black clouds still bore highlights from the sun already set.

"I'd feel much better if the stars were still the Leopard, the Ship, and the others," Lucy said, gazing upward.

"It is odd having an unfamiliar sky," Caspian said. "I just hope it does not make sailing back harder."

It was good to hear that Caspian hadn't given up hope of return.

We wrapped our cloaks around our shoulders and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. It was pitch black out, with nothing but the feeble lantern flame in our midst and the sounds of the waves lapping at the shore. The feeling of magic dimmed with the wearing of time, until we just felt tired and cold. Reepicheep's idea of adventure was more like an uncomfortable camp out where someone forgot the tent and the insulated sleeping bags.

"Thirty white horses upon a red hill," I blurted, "Now they champ, now they stamp, and now they stand still. What am I?"

"A cavalry," Reepicheep declared.

"A red hill," Caspian repeated slowly. "Like a dais. A mural behind a throne? Where a king stamps—ooh! A royal seal! The wax is red…"

"And he's ordering a cavalry of his finest white stallions," Reep added.

"Wrong, and wrong," I snickered.

"Teeth," Edmund said.

"What about him?" asked Caspian, mistaking him for bringing up our crew member.

"No—the answer is teeth. White teeth—red hill is tongue—they're champing…"

"Oooooh," Caspian replied. "I see! Very clever, did you make it up yourself?"

"Heavens, no," I said, "I read it somewhere…"

"I've got one," Lucy said brightly, "Invisible yet not of magic, livelihood and sometimes sick, only use of the lowest layer, gives us life and yet we offer no prayer. What am I?"

"A ghost?" Eustace said.

"A dufflepud," Edmund snorted.

"A soul!" Reepicheep said.

Caspian snapped his fingers. "Air! Invisible, not magic, we breathe it, though sometimes diseases are carried upon it, it gives us life but it is not a deity. Yes?!"

"Yes!" Lucy laughed, and we clapped for Caspian.

"A _dufflepud?_" I repeated to Edmund, "_Really?"_

"First thing that popped into my mind," he replied, and we all laughed the harder. When our chuckles finally died down, the silence pressed in on us, and the darkness seemed worse than before.

"Does anyone else feel homesick?" I asked quietly.

"No," said both Pevensies and Scrubb in unison.

"I am eager to return to Narnia," said Caspian, "But I am eager to see this through to the end, as well."

"Eagerness aside—aren't you homesick?" I prodded.

A pause. "Yes," Caspian admitted, "I miss Narnia."

"I miss her, too," said Reepicheep.

"This is my home," Lucy said. "Even if we're not exactly there—but being so close to Aslan's country makes up for it, I think. The adventure makes up for not actually _being _there. And—no offense, Eustace—but I don't exactly miss the Scrubb home."

"You're not the only one," Eustace laughed. "I miss the comforts of home, of course, but going back to regular old boring life with Mum and Dad after this…"

"Mum and Dad?" Edmund echoed. "You called them Mum and Dad! You always called them Alberta and Harold before. Trying to be all 'modern' or something."

"Well, I've changed, haven't I?" Eustace asked, a little sharply.

"Of course you have," Reepicheep said comfortingly.

"Do you miss your home, Pippin?" asked Caspian quickly.

"I miss my family," I said, "Kind of. I love them, I mean, but… I was feeling pretty smothered at home. A few months without them was just what I needed. But I don't think I miss my world in its entirety. If I could bring my family here, I'd never return."

Caspian _hmm'd _thoughtfully. "So, your true home is where your family is, and not where you live."

I nodded. "Perhaps. You know… when I ended up in Narnia… I was at a carnival with my family. I had gone off to do my own thing, and they were waiting for the fireworks. I kind of wish I had said goodbye, you know, before accidentally getting thrown into Narnia. I just… I didn't know I wouldn't be seeing them for months and months." I bit my lip. "Okay, I _really _wish I had said farewell properly. And when I return… I'll rejoin them and watch the fireworks… and try to act like none of this has happened."

"That's always the hardest thing," Edmund said. "Pretending none of it happened."

"Why?" Caspian exclaimed. "Why not tell your whole family of your adventures? It doesn't seem right to keep it from them! Why, they don't even know—I mean—the _heroism, _your titles—Edmund, you're a king, for Aslan's sake…"

"I don't think you get it," I said drearily, "If you talked about talking animals and Narnia and becoming kings and queens of a magical country that you could only get to when a Lion called you to it—you'd be locked away. It would be straight-jackets, insane asylums, and doctor's appointments for the rest of your life."

"Why would they not trust you?" Caspian asked sadly. "What a terrible world in which your word is not considered honorable!"

"They wouldn't trust what we said because of _facts,_" I said. "And the _facts _of the world from which Edmund, Lucy, Eustace and I come from is that there is no magic, no talking animals, no nothing. It's just science and technology and politics and religion and nothing Narnia-ish at all."

"I don't know if that is quite true," Lucy spoke up. "Last Sunday—oh dear, I guess it would be the last Sunday before we came here—many Sundays ago—we sat in church with the Scrubbs, and I remember the Reverend saying something about _The Great Lion _or something. I don't recall the details but I remember feeling a warmth in the room that was not there before. It seemed very _Narnian_ for a moment."

"First time I could ever say 'that may have been an unhappening' and be happy about it," Edmund pointed out. "Pippin did say it was the pull of the worlds—moving from one to the other."

"Sort of," I said.

"I can't help but feel that sometimes, the worlds touch," Lucy said. "I think, yes, unhappenings are a form of that. But there are better things, too. Sometimes I hear a Narnian melody from a sparrow in the garden…"

"Or a Lion's roar in the exhaust of an automobile," I remembered, suddenly.

"Yes! Exactly!"

"I still think your parents should know that their children are _monarchs,_" Caspian pouted a little. "I suppose they make you take out rubbish and cook for them?"

"Sometimes," Lucy giggled.

"Scandalous," Reepicheep laughed with her. "Imagine a King or Queen who has to _work _a little bit. That does nothing to improve them with experience of humility!"

"Point taken," Caspian said, returning his attention to the sky.

For a time, we star-gazed silently.

I suddenly jerked awake and realized I had dozed off. I had lain my head on Edmund's shoulder and pulled away instantly, feeling soreness in my neck from the awkward angle. I looked across the table—Caspian was sitting alertly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Lucy was blinking, and let out a yawn. Reepicheep was gazing off into the darkness. I realized they had all been dozing too—and whatever it was that woke me had awoken them too. There was a faint gray tinge to the sky in the east—it was nearly dawn.

Something was happening.

In the side of the hill beyond the pillars, a square of light appeared as if there was a hobbit home there and the owner had the gall to install a rectangular door. Out of the opening where the light poured out, the stately shape of a woman came out. She shut the door behind her, and we blinked to adjust our eyes to the purple glare that seemed to be cast over everything now.

She approached the pillars, passed between them, and came to stand at the head of the table. She ignored the three sleepers.

Suddenly, Reepicheep, Caspian, Eustace, and Edmund were all standing, mouths agape and eyes wider than cartoons. The woman standing before us wore a long dress, the bright aquamarine color of a tropical sea, and lights twinkled in the fabric like stars. She was bare-armed and held a silver candlestick in one hand, and the flame was bright enough to light the whole setting as if it were a closed room and not an outdoor plaza. She had long, golden hair, an innocent wide-eyed expression, and I wouldn't be surprised if she knew how to surf and play beach volleyball.

Lucy and I glanced at each other, and then we stood too. But we both had the same feeling that our boys would make fools of themselves because she was pretty. Okay, I'm being casual. Pretty would be an understatement. Divine might be a better term.

The woman set the candle on the table, and the light reflected off some sort of blade. We'd never noticed it before, but there was a knife lying among the table's centerpieces. It was long and ancient looking, cruel and glittering with dark gray stone. It looked like something you could stab a ringbearer with on Weathertop.

"Travelers who have come far to Aslan's table," said the woman, and her voice was wispy and crystal-like—_of bloody course it is, _I thought, with a mental eye-roll. "Why do you not eat and drink?"

"Madam," said Caspian respectfully, "We feared it was the food and drink that cast our friends into an enchanted sleep."

"They have never tasted it," she replied, matter-of-factly.

"Please," Lucy attempted, "What happened to them?"

"Long ago," said the girl, "A ship came to our harbor, nearly a wreck for all these sailors had been through. The three lords came to this table and argued about the future—let us return to Narnia, said the first, Miraz may be dead. Let us stay, said the second, and finish our days in peace. But the third said, nay, let us go on, we are Telmarines—not brutes—and we shall have more adventures. The arguing grew so violent the third took up the Knife of Stone you see before you—but it was not right for him to touch it. As his fingers closed upon the hilt, a deep sleep fell upon all three. And so they shall remain until the enchantment is broken."

"What's the Knife of Stone?" asked Eustace.

Edmund shifted uncomfortably, staring at the knife.

"Do none of you know it?" asked the woman in great surprise.

"I have seen something like it before," Lucy said carefully, with a glance at Edmund, "But it is very much like the knife that the White Witch used to kill Aslan at the stone table—long ago."

"It is the same," the woman replied, and she seemed appreciative of Lucy's understanding. "And it is to be kept here in a place of honor while the world lasts."

There was a pause. Edmund, looking more vulnerable than even our brief visit to the shores of the nightmare island, spoke up. "Look," he said quickly, "I do not want to say I am a coward about eating this food or not—and I don't mean to be rude—but we've had plenty of queer adventures on this voyage and often things are not always what they seem."

I instantly thought of Deathwater and agreed whole-heartedly.

"When I look into your face I cannot help but believe everything you say," Edmund continued, "And you seem like you would be friend to us all. But," he added the last, darkly, "The last time I made such a mistake, she was a witch, and it nearly destroyed me and my family. So forgive me if I cannot trust you."

"You can't know for sure," said the woman, "You can only believe—or not."

Edmund was not satisfied with the answer, but Reepicheep seemed to be. "Sire," he said, "If you would fill a flagon with wine for me, I will gladly toast the lady's health and test the food for enchantments. It would be my honor to do so!"

Caspian sighed. "Is there no end to your honor, Mouse?" but he poured a tiny cup, and handed it to Reepicheep. He tasted the wine, smacked his whiskery lips, and beamed at us all. Then he set to a plate of cold meat, tasting it, and with a smile, bit into a peach. After a third sip of wine he nodded to Caspian. "It tastes of real, satisfying food," he declared. "And I think we'd be the better for eating of it."

"You have no reason to fear for eating at Aslan's table," said the woman, "It is by His will the food is here."

Lucy sat down and tried some of the venison, with a indignant face that seemed to say _name-dropping Aslan is all I need!_ Caspian sat down beside her and pulled a tiny bundle of grapes out of a bowl. Reepicheep returned to his breakfast, and I slowly sat down beside Lucy. My stomach growled, and I finally gave in with a bite into a juicy, flavorful pear. Eustace went for some sort of breaded biscuit.

Edmund was the last to join.

"How does the food keep?" Eustace asked practically.

"It is eaten and renewed every day," answered the woman. "This you will see."

"That sounds very ominous," I said, putting my pear down. Yeah, I was hungry, but I was more eager to see _what _was eating the food other than us. Monsters? Fruit bats? A flash mob crew?

"What are we to do about the sleepers?" Caspian asked, "In the world from which my friends come," he was nodding towards me, "There is a tale of a prince—or a king—coming to the castle in which all are under an enchanted sleep. In that story he cannot dissolve the enchantment until he has kissed the Princess."

I facepalmed. Literally. _Why did I tell them that story? I am suffering from extreme second-hand embarrassment right now. _

Luckily Caspian did not look at me for confirmation, otherwise he would have seen my face cringing behind my hand. He had eyes only for the lady in blue, like some Disney-fied Galadriel.

She was smiling shyly at Caspian, clearly enjoying the fact that he was flirting with her. I could just imagine Drinian face-palming alongside of me.

"Here it is different," she said in reply, "Here cannot kiss the princess until he has dissolved the enchantment."

Edmund nodded as if he took this quite seriously. Lucy and I knew better—he could kiss her quite as easily now as he could later, but this girl wasn't about to be swept off her feet by any old Narnian King. She wanted him to work for it a little. _Atta girl._

"Then in the name of Aslan," Caspian swore in a show of bravado and eagerness, "Show me how to set about that work at once."

Eustace snickered, but quieted instantly under the quailing stare of Reepicheep.

"My father will teach you that," said the girl.

"Your father?" I asked quickly. "So you are not alone on this island, then?" The idea that her father might be skulking around, watching us, gave me the creeps.

"Where is he?" asked Caspian.

"He's coming," said the girl, gesturing towards the hillside from where her own door had materialized. Just as she pointed, the very first glimmer of a white sunrise blushed out of the grayness of the twilight before dawn. It was easier to see the edges of the door now, tiny stripes of light in a rectangular shape. It was opening now, and a tall, slender figure stepped out of it. He could easily have been Gandalf's musical-theater inclined younger brother. (wow, I am just _full _of Lord of the Rings references today…)

The man wore a silver robe down to his feet, a silver beard down to his knees, and a blue cloak trailing behind—made of the same material as the girl's dress, and it too twinkled with fallen stars. His face had a graveness that reminded me of Aslan, but a mild expression that also reminded me of Coriakin.

We stood and awaited something—anything—a word, a speech, some solemn welcome to the island of Neverland or something. But he did nothing but acknowledge us with a slight nod. He walked to his daughter's side, and they clasped hands, and stood at the edge of the plaza and looked between the pillars, into the east.

They began to sing—and with the singing, I worried ever-so-slightly that a sleeping enchantment was coming over us like the three men at the table. The air grew slightly blurry and the sounds that emitted sweetly and shrilly from their tenor and soprano voices were forgotten by our minds the second they were uttered. If I could tell you anything about it, I'd say that it reminded me somehow of Reepicheep's poem… the lullaby he recited the day that Ed, Lucy, and Eustace first arrived. How long ago it seemed…

And just as the cacophony of the two voices (and I think some bird song as well) rose with the sun, and I _think _they sang the phrase _there is the utter east, _bright sunlight—gold and rosy pink—had overtaken the sky and shone brilliantly over the entire scene. It turned our hair copper and our skin yellow no matter what color we previously were.

Then from out of the sun—not _near _the sun, mind you, but I think directly from inside it—there came a flock of white birds, wings beating like hummingbirds. The flock grew to immeasurable size and beat the air towards us, though it was beautiful to look at, and not frightening like Hitchcock would have us believe. They landed like snow on every surface of the table, wings flapping, beaks pecking, tiny beady eyes blinking. They were robin-sized but far prettier, a cross between a swan and a snow owl. None of them came near us, but covered the table, and then when they rose in the air like seagulls startled away from the beach, the food was gone and the table cleansed by magic.

One of them had something tiny and red clenched in his beak. He came to the girl's father, and held his beak out expectantly, wings flapping in place to keep himself in flight. The old man opened his mouth, and the bird dropped the flickering red thing in. Then the man smiled, and the birds rose like a twittering afternoon fog, breaking up into little groups and disappearing into the east. We could not watch them fly away for fear of blinding ourselves in the sun, which was bigger and brighter than we had ever seen it before.

And then at once, their tweeting and sing-song whistles were hidden in the _hush, hush _sound of the waves breaking on the shore in their unending rhythm.

"Wow," I said, unable to think of anything more poetic.

The old man turned then, gave us notice, and held out his arms. "Welcome, Narnians," he said.

"Sir," said Caspian, bowing. We followed his example, and bowed. Well, Lucy curtseyed. I ought to have curtseyed. I didn't; I bowed, in a clumsy fashion. Oops.

"Please," continued Caspian, humbly, his eyes still trying not to settle on the beautiful girl. "Will you tell us how to break the enchantment on the three sleepers?"

"I will gladly tell you that, my son," said the man.

_Son-in-law? _I thought with a giggle. I could see by Caspian's wide eyes that he was hoping for that exact thing.

"To break this enchantment," said the man, "You must sail to the World's End, or as near as you can come to it, and you must come back having left one member of your company behind."

I let out an involuntary gasp—It has to be me. I knew it.

_I don't want to go…_

"And what happens to that one?" asked Reepicheep, hopeful.

_I'm the expendable one, it will be me. It can't be the Pevensies, and it obviously can't be Caspian. The crew members are not expendable—they want to return to Narnia. I am the logical choice. _

"He must go on to the utter east and never return to this world."

_Never is an awfully long time… _I wanted to cry, but I went cold and stiff inside, instead. I put a hand to my mouth and disguised my despair in a poorly acted cough.

"That is my hearts desire," said Reepicheep, looking to his king with a look that seemed to say 'the debate is over!'

"Are we near the world's end, sir?" asked Caspian.

"Near enough," said the man, mysteriously. "But I cannot tell you precisely—for I was looking down on the eastern edge from a great height."

"Were you—flying in the air?" asked Edmund.

"I was far above the air," said the man, "I am Ramandu."

We all glanced at each other, unknowingly.

"I see that you do not know the name—it is no wonder, for the days when I was a star ceased long before any of you knew this world, and all the constellations have changed."

"Oh," I said, "You're a star?"

"A retired star," Edmund said in awe, apparently he had heard of such a thing.

"You're not a star any longer?" asked Lucy, and you could tell by her face that she believed the saddest thing for any star would be to lose his title and live on earth instead.

"I am a star at rest, my daughter," said Ramandu. "When I was old beyond all reckoning, after my last rising I was carried and laid to rest on this island. I am not so old now as I was then. Every sunrise one of the birds brings me a fire-berry from the valleys of the sun, and it takes away a bit of my age. When I am as old as a child born yesterday, I will rise again to the heavens and once more tread the great dance." His eyes twinkled.

"In our world," said Eustace, "Stars are just flaming balls of gas. Boring in comparison, I must add," he said this sheepishly, not wanting to be insulting somehow.

"Even in your world, my son," corrected Ramandu kindly, "That is not what a star _is, _only what it is made of. And from what I've heard—you have already met another star on your journey. The magician, Coriakin."

"He's a star too?" I asked quickly.

"Retired and growing younger like you?" Lucy chimed in.

"Not quite—if all had gone well, he might have sat in the southern sky for many more millennia. I suppose you could call his watch over the Duffers a punishment."

"Punishment?" asked Eustace. "What happened?"

"It is not for you to know what faults a star can commit," Ramandu reprimanded gently. "But come! There are greater questions at hand! Will you go on to the world's end? Or will you sail home and westward?"

"Is there truly a question of that, Sire?" asked Reepicheep. "To me the path ahead seems clear."

"Yes, Reepicheep," Caspian said, "I want to sail on to the world's end—our task was to rescue the Lords, and here three of them lie in enchanted sleep. But I must think of the crew—they are getting weary of the voyage. They long for home and I cannot go further without all of their consent. And then there is the Lord Rhoop—it seems cruel to take him on any farther. He is a broken man."

"I agree it would be useless to sail on without the men in agreement," Ramandu said, "But who is this broken man you speak of?"

"He was trapped on an island made of his own nightmares for the last seven years," I said, knowing that I could probably give the most condensed answer. "Even though we rescued him, he is spiritually broken, physically weak, mentally scarred. He is unhappy on the sea—we feel that Narnia is the only place where he could mend. Right?" I added.

"Yes, exactly," Caspian said.

"Narnia—or a rest without nightmares?" said Ramandu. "If he is unhappy on the sea, let him join his fellow Lords here. I will put him into an enchanted sleep with them, which will lift when you return from the eastern edge. It will be a sleep without dreams or nightmares. Let him drink in the oblivion."

"I am certain he'd love that," Lucy said to me.

There was a crackling of twigs in the undergrowth, and the shuffling of many feet. Drinian and the rest of the landing party had approached the edge of the plaza, and at the sight of Ramandu and his daughter (name? anyone? Does she have one?) they all whipped their hats from their heads and stared open-mouthed while waiting for Caspian's explanation.

"Ah, Captain," Caspian said, "If you please, send two men back to the Treader and give a message to Lord Rhoop—that his companions banished by Miraz are here and resting in a blissful, enchanted sleep without nightmares or dreams, and that he is welcome to share in that sleep until we return from the eastern edge of the world, and then it will be oars for Narnia. If he will come, then escort him back."

Drinian pointed at Ave and Aemon. "Boys, if you please. Carry out the King's orders."

"Yessir," they replied in unison, slightly begrudgingly. They wanted to see what happened, but they took their leave anyhow.

"And the rest of you," said Caspian, "Please… sit down at this table, and let me explain myself."

They tried to keep their confused mutterings to a dull roar as they took seats on either sides of the table. Rhince, Drinian, Rynelf, Jekyll, Klaire, Neil, and Pan represented the day crew, and this time, Zacharius, Olan, Herring, Midge, and Persus joined them. I felt like I hadn't seen them for a long time, and couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of them. Olan winked at me as he waited for Caspian to begin.

"We have a task set before us," Caspian gestured to the three sleepers, and Persus instantly scooted closer to Midge. He hadn't realized he'd been sitting so close. "These three enchanted sleepers are the last Lords that we have set out to rescue—and they will not wake until we reach the world's edge. It is there that we must sail and then return—they will awaken—and then it will be home to Narnia. This is my desire." He looked at them calmly, and went on. "But there is another option to us. We may set sail for home now." It was abrupt, but honest. "I wish to hear your minds about this." He sat down, and waited.

There was a brief silence. And oddly enough, Pan stood up. He nervously cleared his throat, clasped his ruddy hands behind his back, and began to speak.

"What some of us have been wanting to ask for a long time, your Majesty," he asked, his voice showing his upmost respect, "is how we're ever going to get home when we do turn, whether we turn here or somewhere else. It's been west and north-west winds all the way, barring an occasional calm. And if that doesn't change, I'd like to know what hopes we have of seeing Narnia again. There's not much chance of supplies lasting while we row all that way."

I wasn't the only one who was surprised, Rhince and Rynelf's mouths had fallen open, and even the nightcrawlers look bewildered and they had interacted with Pan very little. I'm certain this was more than he'd ever said—especially to royalty—in his life.

It was insane to think that much worry had been bottled up in someone like Pan. I wondered how long he had been thinking about it, and how it must have drove him a little crazy—thinking all that but never saying it till now. It was the most I had ever heard him speak and that brought a rather nutty looking smile to my face.

"That's landsman's talk," Drinian said sternly.

"I am a faun, and I belong in the woods," Pan said, not apologizing for his limited seafaring knowledge. "Please, go on."

"There's always a prevailing west wind in these seas all through the late summer," Drinian explained, "and it always changes after the New Year. We'll have plenty of wind for sailing westward; more than we shall like from all accounts."

"That's true, Captain," said Persus, rather slyly, I might add. "You get some ugly weather rolling up from the east in January and February. And by your leave, Sire, if I was in command of this ship I'd say to winter here and begin the voyage home in March."

"Luckily you are not in command of the ship," I heard Rhince mutter to Rynelf.

"If you stayed for a whole season here, what would you eat?" Eustace asked practically, always thinking of necessities.

"The food upon this table is renewed every evening at sunrise," Ramandu had remained silent for some time, but finally chimed in.

"Now you're talking," Midge said.

"Aye," said Persus.

"I hate to say I agree with them," Neil added.

"Your Majesties, and gentlemen, and ladies all," said Rynelf, "there's just one thing I want to say. There's not one of us that were forced to make this journey… We're volunteers. The same sailors here thinking about 'king's feasts' at every sunset were the very same who spoke loudly about adventures on the day we sailed from Cair Paravel, swearing they wouldn't come home till we'd found the end of the world. And there were some standing on the quay who would have given all they had to come with us—Trumpkin, even being a dwarf an' all, would've loved to. It was thought a finer thing then to have a cabin-boy's berth on the Dawn Treader than to wear a knight's belt, if you get the hang of what I'm saying. But we who have set out will look as silly as as those Dufflepuds if we come home and say we got to the beginning of the world's end and hadn't the heart to go further."

"Amen," burst Zacharius, and Herring slapped Rynelf on the back.

"Here, here!" Drinian echoed.

"What are we going to do if some of our fellows hang back?" Ed asked Caspian in an undertone. "Won't be much fun to sail without a whole crew."

"I've got one more card to play," Caspian whispered back.

"Have you got nothing to say, Reepicheep?" asked Lucy.

"No, why should your Majesty expect it?" Reepicheep asked with surprise. "You all must know what my plans are already. I shall sail east with the Dawn Treader. When she fails me, I shall go east in my coracle. When she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I cannot swim any longer, if I have not reached the edge of the world, I shall sink with my nose held high—and Peepiceek will be head of the Talking Mice of Narnia."

"Here, here," said Neil. "All the same for me—except for the coracle. I am too large for it." Then he hissed to his companions, "I will _not _be outdone by a _mouse._"

Caspian stood up again. "Friends," he said carefully and formally, "I think you have not quite understood our purpose. You talk as if we had come to you with our hat in our hand, begging for shipmates. It isn't like that at all. We have an errand to the world's edge. It is our pleasure to choose from among such of you as are willing those whom we deem worthy of so high an enterprise. We have not said that any can come for the asking. That is why we shall now command Captain Drinian and Master Rhince to consider carefully what men among you are the hardest in battle, the most skilled seamen, the purest in blood, the most loyal to our person; and to give their names to us in a schedule. This is a privilege, and not a demand of you, should you wish to stay behind."

"Manipulative little bast…" Persus began to whisper.

"I think the word you want is clever, sir," I said quickly before anyone heard him.

"Aslan's mane!" Caspian exclaimed, when he saw their doubtful and confused faces. "Do you think that the privilege of seeing the last things is to be bought for a song? Why, every man that comes with us shall bequeath the title of Dawn Treader to all his descendants, and when we land at Cair Paravel on the homeward voyage he shall have either gold or land enough to make him rich all his life. Now—scatter over the island, all of you. In half an hour's time I shall receive the names that Drinian brings me."

There was an awkward silence, till finally, Persus and Midge made their way out of the plaza and into the brush, standing quietly and talking in heated voices. Everyone else went in one direction or the other, some gathering in tiny groups, others sitting off by themselves, thinking carefully.

Aemon and Ave arrived, curiously glancing around at everyone and wondering why it seemed like a recess during a criminal trial. They held the Lord Rhoop supported between them, whose dark gray hair and skin made him look like a dying willow tree.

"Majesty," said Lord Rhoop, his voice exhausted. He inclined his head in a bow.

"Dear Lord Rhoop, friend of my father's, I think that we've found something for you," Caspian took Aemon's place, supporting his waist in one arm. "Let me help you down."

Ramandu's daughter took Ave's place, and together, King and Half-Star helped an old man onto the bench seat by his companions. Then Ramandu placed his hands on Rhoop's old head, and a strange silver light seemed to flow out of the tips of his fingers like liquid glass. Then Rhoop lay his head on his arms, smiled, and began to breathe the deep air of sleep. While Ramandu smiled down at his magical handiwork, Caspian and the girl glanced at each other with a look so full of unspoken words it would fill another novel.

"What a terrible time he has had," Lucy said sympathetically.

"Let's not talk about it," Eustace shuddered.

"I say," Reepicheep prodded Eustace's arm with his tiny paw. "Did I tell you of the time that I first met the young Caspian?"

"No, you haven't," Eustace said quickly, turning his full attention to Reepicheep. The Mouse began to tell him the story in a low tone, and Eustace sat with his hands around his knee in rapturous attention. It was rather adorable. Eustace had nothing but respect for him, and the change in him was so astounding it was hard to believe it sometimes.

We had a half-hour to kill, so I just continued to sit at the table, clasping my hands together and trying to ignore that I had broken into a nervous sweat. Ramandu stood at the head of the table, staring into the bright sunrise, now turning all shades of rosy pink and daisy-yellow. It almost seemed like he was in a trance and wouldn't be able to partake of any conversation that we might start with him.

The crew had scattered about the island, just like Caspian had ordered. Edmund and Lucy were sitting close to me, making their own quiet predictions of who might stay behind. Drinian made a brief return to the ship to inform those who stood guard over what had transpired.

Caspian finally drew close to the Half-Star woman, and I heard him ask, "Will you tell me your name?"

"Lillandil," she replied gracefully. "And yours?"

"Caspian," he answered just as graciously, excluding all the titles. "I was curious about your life on this island."

"I love my home," she replied, "It is peaceful to live at Aslan's threshold."

"Are you ever—lonely?"

"I admit I have dreamt of travel and making friends with other half-humans, or those who do not sit and shine in the heavens as the rest of my family do."

"Have you ever thought of visiting Narnia?"

"It has been on my mind since the Lord's mentioned this place in their argument, but I have not the means to leave. And I _am _a guardian of the Stone Knife."

"What should happen if you leave?"

"Well—nothing, truly. But it is a shared responsibility."

"If you wish it—my lady—upon our return, there will be a place for you on the Dawn Treader, should you wish to travel westward with us."

Lillandil fell silent. "I will think on this."

Someone suddenly elbowed me, and Aemon was sliding into the tiny space between Edmund and I, causing Edmund to move over with an annoyed sound.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he said to me.

I ignored that. "Did someone catch you up on what Caspian said?"

"Herring filled us in."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Staying or going?"

"It's not really up to us, now, is it? But yes, if they'll have me. I'll go on."

"Why not stay?" Persus came to our group. He even, begrudgingly, nodded at me. "You'd be welcome, too, Pippin. Stay. Winter here on the island and go home in the spring."

"You don't want to go on?" I exclaimed. "Why not?"

"I've no mind to sail off the edge of a map," Persus shook his head as if we were all fools to think otherwise. "If you lot had any sense, you'd see that Caspian's just trying to manipulate you into _wanting _to go."

"And for those of us who already want to go, it just adds a little incentive," Aemon said with a yawn. "…and it's still 'King' Caspian, Persus. In case you hadn't noticed."

"His _Majesty _is full of daydreams but lacks vision," Persus said determinedly. "I hope to make the others see sense." He turned and marched, with Midge behind him, over to the group where Pan, Neil, Klaire, and the rest were huddled about talking in low tones. I could see him animatedly trying to convince them to stay behind. Most of them reacted with frowns and head-shakes, and some of them—like Herring and Zacharius—with pure disgust. He even seemed to be accidently convincing the unsure ones to go on. Pan, despite his misgivings, suddenly seemed very resolute to go on to the edge of the world.

The minutes dragged by, and eventually, Persus was the only one who wanted to stay behind. "Midge," he said, in a desperate tone that I almost felt sorry for, "Are you casting in with this lot or staying?"

Midge shrugged and avoided his gaze. "Safety in numbers, and the numbers are going east," he said casually.

"Well, _fine, _then," Persus sighed and threw up his hands. "I jolly well won't be here alone with three—er, four—sleeping men. I might as well _go on._" He said this as if we had begged him to come with us. "I'll sail east."

Eventually the rest of the crew began to shuffle back into the plaza, having calculated a rough half-hour had passed. The sky was lightening into the haze of clouds, and what was once rose and yellow was beginning to part away to reveal blue sky behind it. It was going to be a dazzling morning.

Caspian waited until all had returned, and Drinian had been lurking around the island for some time. When he returned from the ship, he had hovered—unnoticed—on the path to the shore, listening in on conversations and taking mental note of the sailor's true feelings. Then he approached Caspian at the table, and they had a whispered conversation.

"Drinian informs me that all—_all—_the crew wish to go on," Caspian said this carefully, like a politician about to announce the passing of a bill. "And those who are true of intention _will _go on. Mr. Pittencream, if I may speak to you privately for a moment?"

Persus's head shot up, and his gaze hardened. "Yes, your majesty," he said suspiciously, following Caspian's beckoning over to the other end of the plaza, where they could speak unheard.

Drinian addressed those of us left. "The rest of you will journey eastward."

The crew let out an involuntary cheer—even Midge participated.

"His last name is Pittencream?" I whispered to Aemon. "This whole time—he had a name like that—and I let _him _tease _me?!"_

"Persus James Pittencream," Aemon recited drolly. "We were not to speak of it under threat of torture."

"He threatened to torture you?"

"In a manner of speaking. We had no reason to break his trust. Of course, the King didn't know about that…"

"Oops," I giggled. "Poor Persus."

Persus turned away from Caspian and walked like a man sentenced to a hanging as he came back to the table, ignoring the loud conversations all around him. I was surprised when he sat beside Aemon and I.

"His Majesty informs me I am to stay behind," he said, shortly.

I was shocked. "Really?" _Caspian wants to leave a man behind?!_

"Yes."

"You wanted to stay behind, don't tell me you're disappointed," Aemon exclaimed. "You should be happy!"

"I am happy," Persus said, "But I'd prefer staying by my own choice and not feel like I'm being punished somehow."

Aemon and I gave each other a look.

"I feel like no matter how it wouldn't turned out, you would've found a reason to complain about it," I said, honestly. "If something isn't exactly on your terms, you're unhappy about it, even if it's what you wanted."

"And it's ridiculous," Aemon added. It was rare that we ever agreed on anything, and I made a mental note to write down the date in my sketchbook journal that this was a day where our opinions finally coincided.

That day, under a brilliant sun and cerulean blue sky, we prepped the Dawn Treader for continuing into the east. There was fresh water on this island, and each water-drum was filled to the brink. Persus brought his belongings off the ship and began to construct a shelter in a copse near some trees and boulders. Ramandu went to him and asked him to join him and his Star-Daughter in their home, instead. Persus refused, at first.

It took the Lillandil herself to seek out Persus and invite him, oh-so-politely, to stay in their hillside-home with them until we returned. There was a guest room, she said, and as comfortable as a hole in the ground could be. I pictured hobbit halls—since the door opened into the hillside—only much taller passageways. They did not invite my curious nature to look inside so I'll have to leave it to imagination.

Persus said yes because he's a man and she's a beautiful woman and he just couldn't… say… no.

When the sun set over the plaza for a second time, the empty table shimmered in the rays of light, and after blinking a few times, we realized it was again full of food worthy for a King and his consorts. I wondered how many house elves were at work here.

Ramandu asked us to stay, eat, and continue on in the morning. We complied, and for awhile it was like one big family. Caspian felt we did not need a guard on the ship, so _all _the crewmen joined us (yes, even Persus) and we all sat down and enjoyed the feast. It was like the best Thanksgiving ever with far less drunk relatives and no tearful speeches. Although Orpheus and Olan, once they got to talking, did begin to sound like that pair of loud uncles that try to out-eat each other. Quieter people, like Thornton, Teeth, and Pan, sat at the farthest end where they didn't have to make conversation with the four sleepers.

When night began to fall in a navy blue blanket over the scene, Flanagan played his flute, and Persus disappeared from the table. I think he wanted to avoid goodbyes.

Most of us listened to the music, but I noticed Caspian sitting very close to Lillandil, and they were speaking in hushed tones.

"When we return," Caspian was saying, "I would very much like to speak to you more…"

She was smiling—no, make that _beaming_—at him. "I would like that, too," she said.

I elbowed Edmund, gesturing with my eyes toward the sudden blossoming of puppy love. Edmund tried to look at them casually without giving it away.

"I think we might be in the presence of a future Queen of Narnia," he mused.

"Imagine Galma's shock and gossip when he passes through again with _her _and I'm not even on board anymore," I snickered.

"What do you mean?" Ed asked. "Where are you going?"

"Oops," I thought, out-loud.

"You're not—thinking of staying behind, are you?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? It's got to be me. The crew is needed, _you _guys just got here, it seems—Reepicheep thinks it is him but I cannot imagine him not being in the story from now on."

"You can't go off to the edge of the world by yourself."

"I'll be safe…"

"It's not that. I don't think it's meant to be you. That's rubbish!"

"I _keep _telling you, I'm the expendable one…"

"I wish you'd stop saying that!"

"It's not self-deprecation or no self-confidence. I think it's the truth. I'm not in the book, you know. Or at least—I'm certain I'm not. If I leave, things can continue on as they're meant to." I tried to pick a grape off the pile of fruit in the middle of the table, but it detached from the stalk and rolled away before I could catch it.

"Maybe—but perhaps that no longer applies, since you can't remember the book anyway—why are you still trying to play by its rules? Seems so silly that some book from _our world _has caused so much trouble."

"I really do think it's supposed to be me, Edmund," I said, sadly. "I love… love this world. But I'll never belong in it." The grape came rolling back, and landed perfectly in my outstretched fingers. "Case in point."

"I want you to promise me something."

"Okay?" I said uncertainly.

"I don't think you should volunteer to go. If they ask you to go, then so be it. But don't tell any one of your suspicions. If Caspian receives some word from Aslan and wants you to be the one that stays behind, I won't argue. But if not…"

"Don't seal the deal by volunteering to stay behind first-off?" I finished.

"Yeah."

"All right… I guess. I promise."

…

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_**Next chapter: A voyage continued in strange white seas…**_

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**Reviewer replies**

**TryingNotToFall: **Aw you're so kind ;)

**MBilmey: **Thank-you for such a thoughtful review! I love your reviews! I miss interacting with you on tumblr, hopefully I'll be back soon. Also that Doctor Who nightmare sounds like a good story—why don't you turn it into a fic? I'd read it! I think all fandom-related dreams should become stories!

**Penspot: **I'm glad you liked it. I am trying to abide by the great advice of writer Joss Whedon (The Avengers, Firefly, Buffy, etc) "Make it dark, make it grim, make it tough, but then, **for the love of God**, **tell a joke**." It's my favorite.

**GoTeamSkipper: **I wondered if you caught that bit about Tom. :) When I read that quote in the book I did a face palm because I realized I should have named Robin Tom from the getgo. But I guess a middle name is as good as any! But yes, it was interesting to examine my greatest fears and choose the right ones for storytelling. As you can see, spiders don't exactly make for compelling hallucination sequences… haha

**Guest: **Oh, dear anonymous friend, why are you so awesome? You should login so I can follow your account! Anywho, thanks so much for your review. And you know what I have ALSO wondered what me and Peter Pan would be like. Lord knows I've been imagining it since I was about 5 years old. I believed in him one hundred percent! I even saw a cloud formation that looked _exactly _like the pirate ship when I was little which further cemented my belief.

**Silimaira: **Thank-you for seeing those! I went back and made corrections and now it's in ship-shape. It's not like you're getting paid or anything so I really do appreciate your help in being my sort of unofficial typo spotter :)

**Softballgirl: **It pleases me that I made you laugh like a maniac ;) one of my goals in life is to make more people laugh!

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**Note to all readers:**

**If I were to make a sequel to this story… er, complete the trilogy I guess… what would the title be? Just a thought. Nothing official. Just throwing the question to the wind… and you. **


	22. At The Edge

Dear Reviewers,

I've been working on this chapter for _ages! _This note originally wished you all a happy new year because I, apparently, thought I'd be posting this sometime in January. A brief rundown on what has happened to me: I finally crossed an item off my dream-come-true-bucket-list and went to Disneyland. It was a magical experience. I sat next to a cute boy on the plane, and we were both sick as dogs together. I will post a few pictures and the full story on my facebook... speaking of which! SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: You can really, truly LIKE me on facebook now! The link is no longer broken. Just go to .com (slash) PippinStrange. It's the real thing now. There are all kinds of character pictures and doodles and other extra goodies for this story there :)

As I was saying, I went to Disneyland, finished my first novel, spent a weekend with my amazing cousins, GOT A NEW JOB SO I AM OUT OF HELL'S KITCHEN FOREVER, and many other time-consuming things. Furthermore, I've been reading. I renewed my library card and I've been going to the library every single freaking weekend since, sometimes to stay for hours, sometimes to just drop some finished books off, but I'm finally reading like a real reader again, instead of just picking up a chapter here and there when the thought takes me. It's been a long time where I've read so flippin much that I haven't really been writing at all.

That being said, my life is surprisingly slow and calm for being insane, or maybe it's surprisingly insane for how slow it is...

and I'm sorry it has been so long.

Pippin

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Chapter 22

At The Edge

...

According to Tusk, it was time for spring cleaning. I don't mind cleaning things, but as soon as one puts the word 'spring' before it, I suddenly loathe it more than anything in the world. I blame it on my father, whose idea of spring cleaning was waking us up at 7 am on a Saturday morning to vacuum, sweep, mop, and dust the entire house from top to bottom, when we could have easily done the same work at 10 am. But I digress.

Tusk put Aemon and I to work on emptying barrels and separating things that had spoilt from the new stores from Ramandu's island. We filled a small, handheld basket full of bruised fruits, moldy potatoes and stale bread, and chopped them into small pieces to make chicken feed. (For those of you playing along at home who don't have chickens, chickens will eat everything. Everything. Watermelon rinds, rotten food... even eggs and leftover fried chicken. Yes, they are cannibals. Cute, feathery cannibals, that run with their wings sticking out so that they don't tip over. The result is better egg-laying. The mooore you knooow...)

There was one piece of bread that was too stale, it sounded like a brick being smacked against a wall when we tried to chop it up. Tusk handed it to me and said, "Throw it overboard."

"You sure about that?" I said. "I'm pretty sure that's littering. We've got to save the whales."

"Save them from what?" Aemon asked.

I glared at him. "Littering."

Tusk pointed at the galley door. "Overboard."

"All right, fine," I walked out onto the deck, taking a moment to adjust to the sunlight. Ever since we left Ramandu's island, the sun seemed to grow even larger than before, and it shined so brightly that if we had been back in Our World, even sunglasses wouldn't have prevented our eyeballs catching on fire and falling out. Everything had a white glow to it, like a filter for a dream sequence in a movie. But it didn't feel like a shimmering veil that was just dropped in front of our senses, it felt as if the actual veil had been drawn away, and we were seeing the bright, big world for exactly how it was meant to be seen-without shadows.

We hardly slept, we were waking early and going to bed inhumanly late. No one really had any appetites, hence Tusk's sudden need for spring cleaning. It was like being in the spirit world, and I expected to see Avatar Aang show up with solemn advice any time.

I went to the railing and threw the piece of bread overboard, watching it _plop _harmlessly onto the water's crystalline surface. Then I glanced down the deck a ways, and noticed Lucy was leaning far over the railing, staring with wide eyes into the water.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, approaching.

"Oh, yes, look," Lucy pointed down. "If you look carefully, there's a whole 'nother world down there. Roads and mountains and cities and some sort of merpeople-they are so beautiful, can you see them?"

I had to focus carefully beyond the ripples and white sprays from the ship, and try to see the oceans deep through Lucy's eyes. There was some seaweed, some hills, and yes, something like a road... which gave way to the cultivated and colorful farmland under the sea, with ethereal-looking Sea People chasing a whole school of fish. It made my heart hammer in my chest, partly out of shock at seeing something so unreal, the other part being that I had finally seen something so wondrous that words failed me entirely. I grasped Lucy's arm and pointed, trying not to jump up and down with squeals.

The Mer People were naked from the waist up, their tails of indescribable sparkling watercolors. Their skin was the color of piano keys and hair like purple seaweed. They rode strange silver fish, brandishing spears and nets, trying to catch the other school of fish that were roaming freely over their undersea gardens.

"It's a hunting party!" Lucy said excitedly. "We used to take hunting parties out from Cair Paravel..." she grew serious. "In fact, a hunting party was the last thing we ever did as Monarchs of Narnia."

"The... white stag?" I questioned. "I may have forgotten the book about Caspian, and magically forgot the events of what is to come, but I've managed to never erase the events of your reign."

"Yes, the white stag," Lucy said. "Oh, I wish I could join them down there. It would be fun. See how they're using the fish to herd the others?" Then she stopped suddenly. The Mer People had looked up at the Dawn Treader's shadow, and all in a rush, came as close to the water's surface as they could without actually breaking through. They were making angry, fierce faces, and brandishing their spears. Bubbles swirled around them from their defensive movements.

"I don't know if they're very friendly," I said quietly. "I don't suppose their going to jump out and attack us, are they?"

"I don't think they've ever seen a ship before," Lucy said, "and, after all, how could they? We're sailing farther than any ship as gone before. We're frightening them."

"What are you staring at, Lu?" Edmund and Captain Drinian walked up beside us, curiosity written all over them.

"Look at that," Lucy and I said in unison, pointing down to the ocean. I didn't extend my hand too far over the railing, having seen one too many movies where the creature in question grabs a tourists' hand and pulls them to their deaths. I've seen those Krackens at work.

"Turn 'round at once, your Majesties," Drinian commanded quietly, "Lean with your back to the sea. Pretend you haven't seen anything and we're just having a friendly chat."

They obeyed quickly, but they were both confused. I remained where I was.

"You too, Pippin."

"Oh, sorry Captain," I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic as I turned around and examined my fingernails far too casually. "I didn't realize 'your Majesties' was an umbrella term nowadays."

"Whatever is the matter, Captain?" Lucy said, rather frustrated.

"We can't let the sailors see that," Drinian answered in a low tone. "We'll have men falling in love with the sea-women or falling in love with the undersea country itself, and jumping overboard to join them and going to their _deaths_..."

"But we knew them, back in our day," Lucy tried to explain. "They sang at our coronation."

"Those were a different kind, I think," Edmund said gently. "Remember, they could come out of the water and breathe air like the rest of us. They came up from the pool under Cair Paravel to sing... I don't think these can do that. Otherwise they would have attacked us. And they are much smaller, and less transparent and giggly..."

"I see," Lucy said, disappointedly. "You may be right."

"So, uh, heads up seven up," I said, trying to cheer Lucy up, "That pool isn't as fun for humans as it is for the mermaids-at least when the tide is coming in."

"You've been in our pool?" Edmund laughed. "I remember you telling me that they were putting one into the new castle, but I have a vague recollection you are not so fond of water."

"Like a cat," Lucy added.

"Why yes," I responded, "Caspian thought it would be best that I try to take swimming instructions before setting out. I meowed until he let me back inside."

We laughed loudly, but Lucy was soon inclining her head to try and look over her shoulder casually. "I do wish I could see everything there is to see," she muttered frustratingly.

"Best to leave it well enough alone, Your Majesty," Drinian said kindly.

Suddenly, there was a plop and a splash, and Klaire shouted "Man overboard!" Rhince was on duty at the helm and turned the spokes hard to the right, making the ship bank at a sharp turn to put us closer to whomever had fallen. Caspian stumbled down from the poop deck to see what the fuss was.

"Just as I feared," Drinian growled, leaning over the railing.

We turned and looked, only to see Reepicheep splashing around in the perfect turquoise colors, having a grand old time, his tiny arms at work both treading and slapping the water like a toddler in the bathtub.

"Drat that mouse! More trouble than all the ships company put together! Lower the rope!" Drinian demanded. Everyone was coming towards the rails to have a look. Flanagan threw the rope over, and Drinian waved him off quickly. "Thank-you," he said stiffly, "I think I can heave a mouse up by myself, thanks-back to work, all of you! That's an order!"

The rest shrugged and returned to their work begrudgingly, wondering what on earth had come over the mouse to suddenly throw himself overboard. Drinian was so focused on keeping the mer people secret that he didn't notice Reepicheep was chattering the word "Sweet! Sweet!" over and over.

Caspian helped Drinian pull the rope up, much to Drinian's paranoid chagrin. Reepicheep's tiny body, fur wet and clumping together in spikes like those videos on youtube of kittens being washed in the sink, was brought up over the railing and landed in a heap on the bench. Drinian dropped the rope and hissed, "Not a word, Mouse! Don't say anything!"

"I shall say what I like!" Reepicheep claimed shrilly. "I tell you, it's sweet! Sweet!"

"Sweet? Whatever are you talking about?" Eustace heard the noise and quickly came to see what was up, still not entirely in the habit of obeying Drinian's orders.

"Are you all _right, _Reepicheep?" I asked, frustratingly.

"The water is sweet! Not salt, sweet!"

A confused silence.

"At last," I said in a dark, seriously deep tone. "We have come to the great sugar bowl at the edge of the world."

Rhince and Neil both snorted.

"At least two people find me funny," I muttered.

"I tell you the WATER is SWEET," Reepicheep declared loudly. "Do you not remember the poem I recited to you all? _Where the waves grow sweet, doubt not Reepicheep, there is the utter east!" _

"Let me have a bucket, Rynelf," Drinian pointed.

Tusk brought a small dishcloth out of the kitchen that was just Reepicheep's size. He handed it to the mouse, but Reepicheep didn't wrap up inside of it as Tusk intended for him to do. He simply dabbed at his mouth and nose politely as if he had just sneezed during a banquet dinner among ambassadors and senators, then handed the cloth back to Tusk. Tusk took it back with the tips of his fingers, and I could feel the judgment radiating from him as he stomped back to the galley.

Rynelf handed Drinian the bucket, and Drinian threw it overboard. After a splash, he pulled the rope back, hand over hand until it popped back over the rails. Inside, the sun seemed to shine on the water and through it, bright like the kind of glass that would set something on fire with it's concentrated point.

"Perhaps your Majesty would like to taste it first," the Captain said uncertainly.

"Is this an elaborate prank so that I have a mouthful of bitterly salty seawater?" Caspian asked halfheartedly, but it was obvious that he didn't believe for one minute that this beautifully lit water was going to taste like any old ocean.

"I do not play pranks," Reepicheep scoffed. "She does." He pointed at me.

"I _say,_" I pretended to be offended. Then I smiled, evilly. "I'm sure the water tastes just _fine." _

Caspian did a double take, before squinting his eyes, grasping the bucket, and holding it to his lips. He drank one polite little sip-and then he drank deeply. It even dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt, but he didn't give a moment's notice to it.

Then he slowly put the bucket down and said, his voice surprisingly clear, "It's sweet."

"No kidding!" Eustace said. "How strange!"

"Haha, you said the _woooord,_" I whispered and jabbed him in the side.

"What word?"

"_Strange._ It's my favorite."

"I should think saltwater is the strange, unnatural one," Caspian said. "_This _is real water. Pure, sweet, and... well, from the taste of it, I'm not quite sure it isn't going to kill me. But it's the death I would have chosen, if you understand my meaning." His eyes seemed a shade lighter-or perhaps his pupils were dilated. Something was clearly different about them, as if a rainbow from a prism could shine through them now just as easily as emotions or thoughts.

"What do you mean exactly?" Edmund asked, understandably concerned. Consistent with his character, he seemed to be suspicious of eating or drinking anything that could prove to be harmful or magical.

_Come on, Ed, live a little, _I thought.

"It's more like drinkable light than anything else," Caspian explained.

"That's what it is!" Reepicheep declared happily. "We must be very close to the edge of the world now!"

"What possessed you to jump into the water, after all?" I asked slyly.

Reepicheep gave me an understanding look. That stinker of a mouse-he had TOTALLY seen the Mer-People!

"I thought the ocean was looking tasty," he responded, as sarcastic as any mouse could be.

Lucy took the bucket from Caspian and impulsively took a long swig. She pulled back, surprise written on her face. Her eyes looked different too, shining amber and honey and awe, instead of medium brown and natural curiosity. "It's the loveliest thing I've ever tasted," she said, "But it's really... really strong. I shan't need anything to eat ever again."

"Tusk, fetch a ladle," said Caspian, "Captain, if you please, refill the bucket. Everyone has to try this."

"Everyone?" asked Drinian.

"The night crew hasn't been sleeping much since we left Ramandu's island," Caspian said.

"That's right," said Zacharius, and even I hadn't noticed that he had been quietly observing from the poop deck. "We feel no need for sleep and our strength has not dwindled. But they have been waiting to be summoned. I will fetch them if you like."

"Please, do, and thank-you," Caspian answered.

It was weird to see night-crew emerge from below decks. They looked paler and skinnier, yet somehow healthier, standing in the bright sunlight.

It felt weird that Persus wasn't among them-even weirder still that I felt horrible for him, being alone on the island we'd left behind. I wondered, as they all lined up and drank from the bucket, that Caspian had left him behind slightly out of spite for his crass attitude and hints of disloyalty. If Persus had been here with us, now, he'd be drinking from the bucket too. And his eyes would change-and maybe his heart would change. I can't imagine anyone living to the edge of the world, maybe even feeling the sands of Aslan's shore itself, and not becoming a new man. Perhaps it caused more harm than not to leave him behind, erasing his potential as a changed person through the heavenly water and golden sunlight from the Great Lion. I started to feel guilty for not having spoken up, but it was too late now. Persus wasn't with us, and I didn't feel many qualms about it then. He lost his chance to lose his own dragon skin.

Midge looked terrified when he drank, but afterwards, he seemed calm and quiet. Teeth took the ladle, and Thornton the bucket, and they drank in unison. They beamed at each other afterwards as if they both knew a secret and no one else was invited to the club. Herring looked like he could slay a million evil beasts. Geoff looked like he'd never be able to flirt again. Ave seemed healed in his grief somehow. Flanagan hummed lightly after he drank, sat on the bench, and instantly started composing something in his head as he stared out to sea. Aemon opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, and changed his mind, preferring to smile instead. Tusk silently returned to the galley and started to put away his cooking dishes-he knew we wouldn't be making any supper tonight. Edmund lost his suspicions and drank more than anyone. Eustace had a fierce look in his eyes that reminded me of back when he was a giant walking, crying, flying lizard.

I expected Olan to throw the bucket to the ground and say, "I LIKE IT! ANOTHER!" but he definitely did not. Klaire's eyes grew wide and he hissed, "Bloody barnacles, that's _nectar._"

Baron and Bastian both drank at the same time, stared at each other, and grinned. "It makes me feel younger," said Baron, and instead of countering with usual banter, Bastian said, "Aye, and you look younger, too."

Jekyll gulped it down like a soda chugging contest and nearly choked. Only when it was running down his face, shirt, and arms, did he slam the bucket down and exclaim, "Oi! That is good!"

Pan drank politely, and wordlessly handed the bucket to Orpheus. Orpheus took a gulp, and then dumped the bucket over his horns, laughing far too loudly. Everyone, surprised by his joy, joined in as Rynelf refilled the bucket again. And when Rynelf drank, he looked as if a question that had been bothering him for years had just been answered. Rhince acted as if someone just told him his wife had given birth to a son. I expected everyone to start offering cigars.

Neil drank a small, polite sip, set the ladle down, and took step back. Everyone waited incredulously until the feeling set in, and then Neil realized it was not time for small portions. He drank a second ladle-full. When Zacharius finally had his share, he whispered, _"The winter will be over and done." _He shared a strangely significant look with Edmund, before walking up to the poop deck and resuming post by the magically repaired tail, watching the horizon we left behind.

Everyone had as much as they would like. They left full buckets and ladles in the middle of the ship for anyone to partake in. When it was my turn, I reached for the ladle, and was hyper-aware of everyone's eyes on me. Those that hadn't walked away in thoughtful reprieve were still standing there with expectant gazes.

I withdrew my hand suddenly, as if overcome with stage fright. "Not thirsty," I said, a little too loudly.

No one else had minded, standing in utter silence and watching their fellows drink the sweet ocean water. I was disappointed in myself for breaking the spell, but I was suddenly unwilling to do it with everyone watching.

"Well, then," Drinian said loudly. "Back to work, everyone, come on then. The ship won't sail herself even if it seems she could do so in magical waters."

The crew began to silently return to their posts without the usual grumbling. No one liked to be ordered to work when there was something interesting going on, but this time, they didn't complain. They complied as if their duties were all the more bearable by the light that had entered their souls since drinking, I dunno, Holy Water. Though I am sure someone of a Catholic faith could probably tell me that Holy Water wasn't for drinking but for... dabbing and sprinkling, more likely.

All milled away slowly except for the usual, the Pevensies, the Scrubb, the Captain, the King, and the Mouse.

"What's the delay, then?" Reepicheep asked. "If there is ever a time to be bold, my lady, it is now!"

I shrugged, grabbing the handle. "It's just weird with everyone watching. I didn't want to put on a show of... of..." I struggled for the right word. "Conversion."

"Spoken like one who doubts often," Reepicheep said practically. "Converted to what, I may ask? How can you feel as if you are being converted to, say, the belief that we are in Aslan's Country-proof of Him-if you are already a believing Narnian? It is not a question of your character, of course, but merely an observation... a rhetorical question."

"You do not mince your words, Mouse," Drinian said.

"Nor shall I ever," he responded.

"What if it doesn't taste like anything to me?" I asked, the ladle halfway to my lips.

"If you try it your questions will be answered," Reepicheep said frustratingly.

"Okay, okay, goodness people, so pushy," I took a rather large gulp from the ladle, using my sleeve to wipe a dribble down my chin. It was not a drink that went _down the hatch, _so they say. This was water that bloomed, like flower petals in a timelapse. Too fast to be natural, unfolding ethereally with color and shape.

It was as much a taste as it was the lack of taste... the air in the middle of a raspberry, the fizzy bubbles that you hear when you crank open a can of soda, a table display with lilies or roses set floating in a bowl. Sensory, and expanding. A small rainbow alongside a waterfall that changes position or size depending on the spray of mist and the position of the sun. And after it was gone I couldn't remember what it had tasted like, but my mouth felt clean and there was no aftertaste.

On top of all this, it was refreshingly cold.

I returned the ladle to the bucket, saying nothing. The crowd had dissipated, and tried to return to work as Drinian had commanded, but soon realized he was wrong about the ship sailing itself, because that is _exactly _what she was doing. Jekyll held some of the ropes in his hands, staring at how useless they were at the moment. He set the ropes down and stood there, wondering what to do next. Klaire went up the crow's nest, eyes shielded out of pure habit, even though he needn't hide his eyes from the sun anymore. Flanagan sat idly and held his flute in his hands but didn't play it. Reepicheep went to the Dragon's mouth and looked through with a face of peaceful indifference. Aemon returned to the kitchen but he and Tusk didn't cook anything, they just continued with their spring cleaning without any hurry. Edmund and Lucy sat against the railings and watched the water. The night crawlers didn't go back to their hammocks, they meandered the ship like pleasantly satisfied tourists.

No one was unhappy, but no one was wasting any effort to communicate with each other, which was an odd concept for me. To me, when everyone ignores each other, it's a sign of... you know... profound dislike. But that didn't seem to be the case here. The memory of drinking the sweet water didn't evaporate as most drinking memories do, but seemed to increase till we are felt stupefied by the sun, spiritually cleansed, and the most hydrated we'd ever felt on the entire trip.

Though I've never liked heights, I was feeling oddly invigorated, and climbed halfway up the rope ladder. Thrusting my legs through the ropes so that I sat in it like a swing, I watched the waves splash by at a comfortable height. The ship sliced through the water, the shadow playing against the surface in the shape of an arrowhead, at a speed greater than the usual wind's thrust. We were moving far too quickly for it to be normal.

Dinner time came and went, but we ate nothing. We simply stared into the sun, like some sort of moth enchanted by a large light that could mean certain death. On Earth, we could be blinded by staring into the dime-sized light in the sky. Here, the sun was as large as if it were the London Eye ferris wheel a mere stone's throw away, and the Treader was simply docked at the river Thames. We could stare into it, despite the increased size and brightness, without tiring... without being blinded... without even noticing we were doing it. The only thing that broke our concentration was a flock of white birds flying suddenly out of the sunset, detailed down to the feather as if we were seeing them through a microscope.

When someone finally spoke, it broke an oceanic silence so profound that every head swiveled in that direction. Drinian was speaking in a low voice to Caspian, but everyone could hear it, even if they were so close to the railing that the roaring waves might spray them. Of course, the waves did no such thing. There were hardly such waves, only the ones caused by the Treader's wake. The ocean was speaking in that watery, lapping sound, but not to the degree as an ocean normally would. There was nothing to indicate we weren't just on a giant, calm lake.

"I can't understand this," Drinian had said, which caused such attention, "There is not a breath of wind. The sail hangs dead. The sea is as flat as a pond. And yet we drive on as fast as if there were a great gale behind us."

"I've been thinking that too," Caspian casually pushed himself up onto a barrel, swinging his legs thoughtfully over the side and sitting like it were a makeshift throne. I'd never seen him quite so relaxed since Starlight Stella had mooned him. Er, not mooned him. Acted moon-like? There has to be a better way to phrase that.

"We could be caught in a strong current," suggested Caspian.

Edmund was sucked into the conversation like salmon to rapids. He clearly had missed human conversation. "That's not so nice if there really is an edge to the world and we're getting nearer to it."

"You mean," Caspian said in a slightly perplexed tone, "You think we might just be poured over it?"

Reepicheep sprung out of the back of the Dragon's head. "Yes!" he shrieked, clapping his paws together. Apparently he was listening in. "Yes, yes! Exactly!" like a tiny sword-wielding Errol Flynn film star, he grasped a rope, swung across the decks, and landed among us. "That's how I've always imagined it - the World like a great round table and the waters of all the oceans endlessly pouring over the edge. The ship will tip up stand on her head - for one moment we shall see over the edge - and then, down, down, the rush, the speed..."

"What do you think will be waiting for us at the bottom?" Drinian asked doubtfully.

Reepicheep's eyes gleamed like he was willing to bet his life's savings. "Aslan's country, perhaps. Or nothing. Perhaps we will just fall forever and ever- but it would be worth it for just one glimpse of what is beyond the world."

"Maybe we can not talk about tipping off edges and falling forever," I offered over my shoulder with a weak giggle.

"But look here," Eustace said, who hadn't stirred from the crate he had sat upon after the water. "This is all rot... I mean, the world isn't flat like a table, it's round, like a ball."

"Our world is, but this isn't the same," Edmund reminded Eustace.

"Just wait till you get to the moon landing," I blurted suddenly. "In the sixties. You'll like it. And you can see how round Earth is from the moon."

"Balderdash, you can't fly to the moon," Eustace laughed.

Caspian pointed at Edmund. "You come from a round world? And you never told me? And you!" he pointed to me, still in the ropes like a comfortable monkey. "You've flown to a moon?!"

"Please forget what I said," I laughed. "It's too hard to explain but- no, I didn't personally do it."

"We have legends and fairy tales of round worlds in Narnia," Caspian said to Edmund, "And it's really too bad you didn't tell me that you come from one. I have always loved hearing about them. I've always wanted to live in one!"

"They're not... altogether that special," Lucy said, chiming in.

"How can you say that?" Caspian laughed. "I'd give anything to see it. That would be a great adventure. Do you think," he added lightheartedly, "If you can get into my world, I could get into yours?"

"I don't think it's possible," I said.

"Well, it'd be great fun to have the chance, would it not?" Caspian said, his eyes lighting up as if he were already thinking of a million ideas to accomplish it. "It must be exciting to live on something like a ball. Have you ever been to the parts where people walk upside down?"

Edmund shook his head, his lip twitching with a smile. "It isn't quite like that. And there's nothing particularly exciting about a round world once you've been to it."

"_I'll _explain," I chuckled, coming down the ladder and joining them on the decks below, barefoot against the grainy wood and enjoying the warmth of it. "Caspian, the world IS round like a ball where we come from. But there are no places where people walk upside down. I'll show you." I glanced around for an example. "Hm... okay. So the world, where we come from, is _so _big, that no matter where you are, it feels flat. You follow?"

"I think. But what of the mountains?"

"Well, of course there are mountains. I don't mean flat in a plain, field of grass sort of sense. I mean flat as in, no matter where you go, you're never really looking at the curve of the globe that drops down till it is upside down."

"Oh, I think I see."

"No matter where we go, there is a horizon. It could be a horizon of mountains or oceans or fields, but it is so big, that you're never standing upside down with sky below you. You just keep walking, swimming, boating, or flying towards the horizon. It's always a line. Eventually you'd find that you're back where you started."

"Tell me, how long would a journey like that take?" Caspian asked in bewilderment.

"A few weeks," Lucy said.

"A few days," I answered at the same time. I glanced at Ed and Lu apologetically. "Planes are faster in my day. And there are more of them. Every city has an airport. It takes a matter of hours to get from the USA to Europe."

"But there are countries that are still upside down, are they not?" Caspian asked with confusion.

"The earth rotates around the sun," I said, "That is how the sun goes from one end of the sky to another. It takes an entire 'day' for the earth to go around. Then, the people on the other side of the globe have the daylight, while we have night, then the sun comes back, and they're having nighttime, and we're the daylight... nothing is truly upside down or right side up. We're moving in a circle. And think about... an ant, or something. They have no concept of up or down, they just crawl along a table, meet an edge, and continue down the side and under the table without falling off. That's what we do I guess."

"Most fascinating," Drinian said dryly. "And are you a scientist?"

"No, this is..." I searched for the British equivalent. "Primary school knowledge."

"Yes," Lucy said, "And what if this world were the same?" she beamed, excitedly. "Maybe we will find ourselves on the Western shores of Narnia that no one but the beasts and Talking Animals have ever seen. Back in our day, someone thought it would be useful to create a road that went from one end to the other. I don't suppose this construction continued, Caspian?"

"I'm afraid not, not after you left anyway. It is partial along the river, complete near Telmar and Miraz's castle, and non-existent nearer to Cair Paravel." He smiled. "But it will be in my reign. You can rest assured. There will be safe passage through the country... from the mouth of the great river to Cauldron pool. I will put Trumpkin in charge of that one," He laughed a little, and then sobered as if he wouldn't be there to see it, nor return alive from our current journey.

...

The conversation had ended there, and nothing else was spoken of for a long awhile. Eventually twilight fell in lavender and periwinkle hues, the clouds were wispy like brushstrokes, and the first stars of the night began to wink. The sun set in a blaze of glory before us, sunken and red behind a smog-like banner of clouds. When it disappeared, the moon began to rise in its place, snow-white and edged in silver.

No one suggested dragging mattresses and hammocks out onto the decks again. No one was going to bother to sleep. Some just laid down where they were standing, throwing their arms behind their heads and beginning to star gaze. With all the night crawlers and day crew out at once, it felt slightly crowded.

The warmth remained constant, as if we were becalmed. The wind was practically non existent, and the temperature was rising but it was never uncomfortable. For once it probably could have gone up to one hundred degrees, and I wouldn't have minded.

"It's beautiful," I said softly, not wanting to disturb the whimsical silence chosen by the entire crew. Edmund, Lucy, Eustace, and I shared a single lumpy bag of straw, to replace the nests of the chickens. It was a large burlap sack, enough to use as a pillow. We all put our heads upon it and watched the sky, our bodies stretched out like the four points of a compass... I was north, Eustace was south, Edmund at the west, and Lucy in the east. Somehow, it was as it should have been. I belonged with them, but surprisingly distant in a poetic sense. Eustace had warmed and changed, like a Santa Ana wind. Lucy's heart was nearest to Aslan, as it was from the dawn of their adventures. Edmund... sweet, darling Edmund, enjoyed this voyage as much as the next, but his heart was on a throne in Narnia... missing his kingdom like never before.

"It _is _beautiful," Eustace said. "I'm afraid English nights will be utter rubbish by comparison. To be fair, I've never bothered to look for any length of time at one."

"You'll find yourself watching sunsets more often," Lucy said. "Oh, Eustace, to think you've finally been here... with us. We can... talk about it now. We have something to share."

"You mean, share something other than sharp words and a few blows?" Eustace smiled a little. "Or a begrudging spare bedroom?"

"I shall love that spare bedroom as long as I live," Lucy sighed.

"I don't suppose we'll ever go back," Eustace added softly. "I don't miss it, don't misunderstand. I could stay, you know. I just... never really got on with my parents. I pretended to. But it isn't very sporting to leave them like this, wondering where we've gone."

"Eus, time hasn't gone by, maybe a moment or two," Edmund said. "They won't miss you. We'll go home just the minute after we've left."

"That is peculiar," Eustace raised his eyebrows. "I guess I shan't feel so guilty then."

"You're all talking as if our time is up," I said stubbornly. "Can't we just pretend it'll last forever?"

"But can't you feel it?" Lucy asked. "Our time is drawing near. It's not just... a feeling. It's as if the very wind is telling me so."

"There's not much wind," I mumbled.

Edmund laughed. "So there isn't. But don't tell us you can't feel it as well."

"I am in denial of it, if I feel anything at all. I don't know the end of the book anymore, so I can't very much guess what lies ahead. I would hope it is another adventure. Perhaps nothing life threatening, but adventure nevertheless."

"This is an adventure right now," Lucy pointed out. "We're not eating, nor sleeping, there's no wind, and yet we go on. Us, and the ship, are both as alive as we can be and we have nothing to sustain us! Isn't that amazing?"

"It's a bit eerie to be perfectly honest," Eustace laughed.

"We must be drawing to the end of the world," Edmund said. "And I long to see it. I do. Then... maybe we can go back."

"Go back? To England?" Lucy asked.

"No, to Narnia. They'll be sailing back after all. Caspian must return to his throne. And we could go with them. Explore the woods again. See good ol' DLF and Trufflehunter. Visit old haunts... Beaversdam... the great river... Even the tombs of the Calormen's desert. I am certain Cor's descendants still rule Archenland... Caspian told me that Miraz left them well enough alone, for unlike Narnia, the standing armies were all human, and numbered by the thousands. We could see it all again. Take up the hunt again, you might say. Maybe we'll see the white stag."

"Oh," Lucy said, in a pained voice, "I can't think about it. If we cannot visit, I shall have a broken heart. I couldn't bear the disappointment. Let's not think about it, please."

"I wish I could have seen more," I said. "The events of Caspian's return to the throne are... hazy. It was very stressful. I don't think I slept enough. It's like trying to remember a night when you were drunk."

"You've never been drunk," Edmund pointed out.

"True. I do remember you eating dirt, though."

"It was horrific. I blame you."

"I hope you do."

"That is something I would give away my insect collection to see," Eustace laughed, and Edmund elbowed him lightly, with a "Hey!"

"Speaking of wanting to see things," I said, "Aslan. Lucy. You saw him, didn't you?"

"I did," she replied, "And... I can't say it was altogether enjoyable. I deserved a right proper scolding, I did. But it was good... oh, so good."

"When I went upstairs, he was gone."

"I want to see Aslan again, and I wish all of you could see him too," Lucy said. "Do you think he will be there?"

"Why wouldn't he?" I offered. "It's his house."

"I remember the first time I saw him," Lucy said, reflectively. "Oh, it was perfect. We were so, so fidgety and worried, trying to force one of the others to greet him first. Naturally, Peter took the lead, and saluted him with his sword... and then Aslan spoke. He said nothing truly profound, he simply welcomed us. He said each of our names, and I felt as if I had never heard my name spoken out loud before this moment, yet it felt as if he had been calling to us all our lives. His eyes were so... so solemn, and good, but terrible. I felt I had come home at last."

"I wish I was there," Edmund said.

"I wish you had been, too," Lucy said.

"Where were you, Edmund?" Eustace asked.

Silence.

"Is he asleep?" Eustace whispered after too long of a pause had drifted by.

"I'm sorry I was so ghastly to you," Edmund finally spoke.

"Huh?" Eustace said.

"I was terrible. Eustace, you were a mean little weasel, but I of all people should have known why. You were lonely and frightened and selfish. If I had but paid you mind with a little bit of kindness..."

"Oh, bother all that," Eustace propped himself up on one elbow, looking at him. "It doesn't really matter. If I hadn't been nasty I might not have ended up here. I can't blame you."

"But I used to be just like you, and it was very wrong of me to treat you poorly. I had a chance with you- a chance to use my experiences, to allow them to give me compassion for others. And I didn't."

Eustace shrugged uncomfortably and laid back down. "I don't think it matters, but I thank you for the sentiment, anyway."

"Lucy did a better job of treating you as I should've," Edmund said. "I realize that now. It is horrible to be isolated. And to think I would try to make you as miserable as you made me, throwing the golden rule out the window and pretending I've never been there."

"It's all in the past," Eustace said lightly. "Really."

Edmund hesitated. "All... right. Good."

"What brought this on?" Eustace ventured.

"Eustace, I didn't see Aslan with the others because I was imprisoned by a witch."

"How awful for you!" Eustace declared with feeling. "Awful, but thrilling. How did you escape? What happened? How were you captured?"

"I wasn't captured. I went to her willingly. She promised to make me a King in exchange for my brother and sisters. I went of my own accord."

This time, it was Eustace's turn to be silent. "Oh," he finally said in a small voice. "That is... very bad form."

"I should say so," Edmund nearly laughed. "Unlike you I actually acted upon how I was feeling. I felt isolated, angry, lonely, depressed... and I acted on it. I left my family in the Beaversdam and sought out the witch myself, asking her to make good on her promise about making me King. I was imprisoned instead, and I heard her say she was going to kill my family. I knew then I had made the most terrible mistake of my life. But somehow I knew I deserved every consequence of that mistake, because why should I believe-for one moment-the word of a witch over the knowledge of Lucy and the Beavers when it came to her duplicity? I should have known all along she was tricking me for some evil purpose, and in my heart I knew I was doing the _wrong _thing, but I did it anyway. I debated all the way to her castle, and yet I walked over that threshold of my own choosing. It is only by Aslan's command and rescue that she didn't kill them, or me."

Eustace seemed to take in the sky for a time, watching the stars and processing this new side of his cousin. "That is why you weren't there."

"That's right."

"Had it been me in your place..."

"Admit it, Eustace, you probably would have decided she was the closest to the British Consul as you were going to get."

Eustace let out a short, barking laugh. "Yes."

"Oh, dear," Lucy said, feeling slightly awkward, "I'm sure Ed doesn't mean that he thinks badly of you, Eustace."

"What I mean is, Eustace and I were very similar... _are _very similar. I should've seen the danger. I should have been kind. I should have tried to understand you, Eustace. Been there for you. You might have felt a little less alone."

"I don't feel very alone anymore," Eustace confessed. "_Family _meant burdensome guests before, and now it means I have someone to talk to."

"Anytime you miss Narnia, you just give us a call on the telephone, won't you?" Lucy pleaded. "We'll talk of old times."

"For the last time, we're all still here, let's not pretend we're leaving soon," I said. "I don't want to go."

"None of us do," Lucy said, reaching up and taking my hand. She reached down the other side and grasped Eustace's hand. I grabbed Edmund, and we squeezed each other's hands painfully.

"Go on, then," Lucy laughed.

Edmund and Eustace clutched each other's hands and laughed clumsily.

The four of us were connected as we should be, two boys and two girls, star gazing without worry like children that we longed to be, ignoring the feeling of somber finality. I didn't care what any of them said about it being near the end. For as long as I could deny things, whether it be my immaturity and flaws, or the fact I tried to act like a know it all when I was the farthest thing from, I would deny an end to our voyage. I wasn't going to leave here, ever. I could stay on the ship forever really. The Dawn Treader is...

and as soon as I tried to think, _The Dawn Treader is my home, _I suddenly remembered that it wasn't.

The Dawn Treader was not my home.

My home was my family. My brother and sister. Warm grasses and the shade beneath the apple tree, the swing in the branches and my cat staring at me through the window. My home was a sticky town festival in Walden, a tune sung in a temperature of one hundred and three degrees, unbearably hot and the cool showers that followed. Home was sitting in a pew on Sunday and gazing at stars that were, by comparison, colorless and bland... but they were our stars. The dipper would set and when the leaves turned, Orion's Belt would return, pointing his arrows in a galaxy that belonged to know one but the eyes that could behold it. Fall would come and I would return to school, sit in a classroom amongst twenty others and wondering if I was the only one who remembered _living. _I was not always a loner at school, but at times when the mists wiped away the golden autumn and left cold rain in its place, I felt like one. And then the magic would come, the first snowfall of the year, procrastinating my studying because that's what college students do, and walking through the trails between east and west sides of campus, waiting for the flakes to fall among a lamppost that looked breathtakingly familiar.

Home was Walden, in any season. Home was waiting for me, it only wished I could remember it. Why I loved it in the first place. And for some reason, I couldn't remember any reasons why I felt driven to leave. The imperfection made me leave without a second glance, convinced I may never want to return. Narnia was too special and Walden was a small, all-American town where tractors sometimes took up both lanes and you couldn't pass them on either side. I had flown up out of the festival with nothing but joy and would have been desolate if I realized I couldn't fly.

But home was my own bed, one that I could hardly remember sleeping in. The books on my shelf and the wind in the chimes on the back porch, where friends gathered and roasted marshmallows in a fire pit. There was always music, laughter, and sometimes flying in a second-hand amusement-park ride that lifted you up to see a view, and drop you down, down down, and then up again to hear a loan train whistle in the night.

I was homesick. Desperately and achingly.

A tear streamed down my cheek and I was unable to stop it.

"I hear it too," I whispered softly.

"Hear what?" asked Lucy.

"The call of home," I responded, sadly. "You're right. We're nearly there."

...

The next morning, we realized two extraordinary things had happened. One, our oldest members of the company, Baron, Bastian, Jekyll, Herring, and Zacharius, all seemed to look much younger than the days previous. There were marks and lines in their faces that were slowly fading as if they were just tricks of the light, though we all knew this was not true. Some of their weather beaten skin tones were fading, even Drinian and Tusk began to seem a little... smoother than usual.

No one pointed it out verbally. But everyone noticed. Everyone checked the back of a silver pot to see if they themselves had undergone any change. I'm sure all of us looked younger and slightly more radiant than before, but the change was significantly more obvious with the elder gentlemen.

The second incredible thing that happened was noticing that, at last, our seascape was changing. The seas were still calm and smooth as glass beside us, the speedy current carrying us on and on, but ahead we glimpsed something new.

There was a bar of solid white on the horizon, like a stripe of a tall sand bluff, or the white cliffs of Dover, only this was closer and smaller in scale.

"Land... ho?" Klaire attempted with a chuckle, breaking a solitude in which we were all ensnared.

"My lord," said Caspian to Drinian, "Tell me what you see. I cannot fathom what _that _is."

"I see whiteness as far as the eye can tell," Drinian answered, "But to what that whiteness is, I have no idea."

"I cannot imagine what... what could cause such a thing?"

"If higher latitudes we sailed, Sire, I'd say ice."

"And so would I, but it is as warm as the mountains of the sun itself. We are in the very copse that grows the fireflowers whose brew creates Queen Lucy's healing cordial. So it cannot be ice, can it not?"

"I love it when you two talk fancy," I interjected, grinning.

"Fancy?" Drinian sounded offended.

"Kingly," I amended.

"I am a King," Caspian missed the point.

"But soft!" I added. "What light beyond our horizon breaks? What is the manner of the slough that we find ourselves adrift? What glorious discovery for which we venture, to seek out the meaning of the shore that glistens like snow upon the mount and ice at the river's mouth so mysterious it sets a chill among the crew and a thrill in our innermost hearts?"

Caspian's mouth had dropped open.

"See?" I added clumsily. "I can do it too."

"With a little help of Shakespeare, I take it," Eustace scoffed.

"Only the first two lines," I corrected. "The rest is mine."

"Anyway..." Drinian said very slowly, "We ought to row back against the current and slow down, for I wouldn't want to crash into whatever-that-is at speed we are fetching."

"I don't know if you'll need to," Lucy said, standing up on the poop deck with Herring and Olan. She was quite taken with Olan, and he with her. It is a shame, I thought, that they hadn't spent more time together. They both had a cheery disposition and could have had a contest of 'who can be the fullest glass'. "We seem to be slowing down," she explained, "I've been watching the wake. Measuring the knots at which we... oh, just look."

Drinian and Caspian obeyed their queen, looking over the rails and watched, in utter amazement, as the spray and wash of waves riding up the side of the ship in energetic splashes began to decrease, and then slowed to nearly nothing.

"Are we becalmed again?" I asked confusedly. The horizon of white was growing longer, as if a field of snow lay ahead, the shore of Antarctica itself if the waters were simultaneously tropical.

No one answered. Drinian gave orders to have the ship turned so that we may row alongside of the whiteness. Even at close range, it was so bright that we couldn't see the details. All of the nightcrawlers, plus Ave, Neil, and Orpheus, went down to do the rowing. Surprisingly, it wasn't going to be entirely unpleasant, for below decks had remained cool like an icebox. A perfectly chilled darkness like the best of air conditioning.

"Lower a longboat," Caspian ordered, "Let us see what it is up close."

Rynelf and Pan were put in charge of the rowing. "Who'd like to go and investigate?" Rynelf asked with a mysterious grin. "I'll warrant no one has the bravery for..."

"I'd like to go, if you please," Lucy interjected.

"And I!" Reepicheep squeaked.

"And I, if Reepicheep is going," Eustace said.

"Anyone larger?" Rynelf asked, rather dryly. He wasn't altogether pleased with the 'bravest' of them for their stature, and he did so hope to make someone else to the rowing.

"I'll go," said Flanagan. Besides Eustace, he was the skinniest, lightest boy on board. Everyone started laughing at Rynelf, who rolled his eyes and took up an oar. Pan calmly took his oar, with quiet indifference to the work of it.

Drinian gave the orders. Rhince and Aemon began to lower the pulley, till the longboat splashed into the waters and Flanagan detached the ropes.

They began to row, and we watched with held breath. They went right up to the white stuff, and then went _into _it. It was not solid, nor land, nor ice. It was something thick that floated on top of the water. "Whipped cream or marshmallows," I offered.

"It's been awhile since you've cursed like Trumpkin," Edmund laughed.

"I wasn't!" I guffawed. "I was offering my guesses! It's like whipped cream on hot chocolate. The froth, you know. They've rowed right into it."

We watched their distant dark shapes, starkly outlined. Rynelf dumped a bucket overboard and took a sounding. We could hear their voices, tinny and skipping like rocks on the water's surface, make exclamations and gestures. Finally they began to row back.

"Lillies, sire!" called Rynelf.

"Come again?" Caspian asked.

"Blooming lilies, sire! Like a garden pond at home!" Rynelf shouted back, though there was really no need to. They were close enough for us to see they had brought back a boatload of it, water and all, but were not sinking.

"Look!" Lucy stood up in the stern like a miniature George Washington off to a hippie convention instead of fighting the British. She had an armload of lilies in her arms, heavenly-white flowers with opened petals and broad circular leaves that they could float upon.

"That is a sight," Edmund said, helping Aemon and Rhince with the pully. Rynelf reattached the ropes.

"What is our depth?" Drinian asked.

"That's just the thing, Captain, it's still three fathoms or more," Rynelf said, as the ropes began to grow taut and crank upwards. Pan and Flanagan pulled the ropes till they were at level with the deck, and could step off.

"Which makes me belief it is not like lilies as we know it," Eustace said practically, trying to offer an educated opinion without sounding pompous. "In England, they cannot grow in deep oceans. I assume it is the same here."

"That it is," Edmund said, giving Lucy and Eustace a hand in stepping out of the longboat. "There used to be lilies in Beaversdam and around Cair Paravel. I've never seen any on the sea before."

"Let's row back to the current and proceed," said Caspian, "We might as well go on. We aren't going to starve to death. I'm sure there has to be an end to the lilies somewhere, perhaps these are like a garden in front of a grand old house... Aslan's house."

The thought, to me, of being in Aslan's garden, was as compelling as it was overwhelming. There was nothing to do but press on, into the lilies floating on every surface.

As the hours drifted by, we left the blueness of the ocean behind, until the horizon behind us was only a thin, dark blue stripe. All around was the white and gold nestled in the petals of the lilies, blooming widely and hiding the green saucer-plate leaves below. The wake behind us shone like the dark green of an old, antique bottle, where the ship had parted the lilies into a northern half and a southern half. The current kept them from drifting back into place. If the ship had to turn around and return, they'd have no trouble finding their way... a path was being carved as we sailed.

...

_Day 2 of the Lily Sea_

_Still going. Still lilies. No chess. A little reading. Much bright, very sun. I'm super poetic. _

_I also feel I should note... no more unhappenings. Without knowing what happens in the book, I am not weighing and second-guessing every moment. When I was younger, I was so spastic and insane that it was really hard to keep a grip on the reality of Narnia. It was as if I hadn't even tried to belong, and without it, I flickered in and out of Narnia like a candle. When I was worried or traumatized or second-guessing myself the reality around me would start to deteriorate. _

_Not like now. I started to feel as if I didn't belong in Narnia... again. I tried to hard to fit in, and it must have worked for awhile. I don't know why I started to feel out of place, but I guess being treated like a psychic kept me taking part in this Narnian life. By setting myself apart I was pulling myself out of the fabric. _

_so I made myself normal... er, Coriakin did. I asked him to. He made me forget._

_Without constantly referring to a knowledge gathered outside of the Narnian universe, I haven't seen unhappenings... not really. Except at Ramandu's table, I said 'I don't belong here' and a grape rolled into my hand even though there wasn't a hill. _

_As long as I am ignorant of what is to come, I don't think they'll unhappen again. I can immerse myself fully into this world without thinking of Outside. If I detach myself from the outside, I can't slip back into it, see?_

_I should have done it ages ago, if I could have. _

_Day 3 of the Lily Sea_

_Almost a little bored. Took a nap, not because I needed rest, but because it felt more productive than anything else. We drank more sweet water. Feeling stronger and fresher every day. I don't think I'll ever work out but I think this is what athletes must feel doing some sort of Olympic event. Some of it feels like a slow dream, some of it feels so fast that it is over in the blink of an eye. All combined in a shroud of nostalgia and feeling, physically, at one's peak. _

_If this is what it means to die and go to Heaven, I would say... it feels really good. But it is sort of boring. _

_Day 4 of the Lily Sea_

_Caspian declared this place to be called The Silver Sea. I can't help but feel the word silver is significant. I don't want to call it that. It's white, not silver. They penciled it in, and now, The Silver Sea has magically appeared in the incredible map given to us by Coriakin. So let it be written, so let it be done, I quoted. _

_The Silver Sea has apparently no end. Ever._

_What will we do?_

_Go on forever?_

_How long is eternity on the sea when you can't grow any older and all you do is stand, smile, and drink water all day? _

_Do I have the cabin fever that Drinian warned me about my first morning in Narnia? _

...

"You know," whispered Caspian to Edmund and I, leaning on the railings and staring as we had for the past five days, "I don't think I can bear much more of this, but I don't ever want it to end."

"I sort of want it to end," I said. "At least it has to sometime."

Edmund suddenly glanced at us. "Did you say something? I wasn't listening."

Caspian laughed, far more easily than he used to. He was about to repeat himself, when Drinian rang the warning bell. The sound felt so wrong among the sea of lilies that everyone nearly jumped out of themselves, leaving only shadows and clothes behind.

"Calm down," Drinian declared in a calm voice when everyone jumped. "It's protocol. We're reaching shallow waters. Unless we want to be grounded, we _must _halt the ship. Get us out of the current. Rowers to your stations."

...

We were stopped. The silence was nigh unbearable. Where were we to go? How should we proceed?

"It is here that you must fulfill your promise," Reepicheep's voice carried over the entire ship. "I must go on, to the easternmost. Sire. I desire to leave now."

A silence.

"Lower the longboat," Caspian commanded in a voice that sounded less like a Narnian and more like a Steward of Gondor who throws hobbits around and sets himself on fire. "Call the men aft, I must speak to them."

"What the?" I said. "What is THAT?"

"I think you are right," Eustace said. "He looks... queer."

"We all look like that," Edmund said over his shoulder, climbing up the ladder to the poop deck. Eustace and I glanced at each other, and followed, taking a less-obvious seat at the railing. Lucy and Edmund stood at the helm. Caspian stood above the ladder, waiting, till the rest of the crew was gathered below him, awaiting his speech. The nightcrawlers looked around awkwardly, not quite as accustom to the formality.

I admit it. I was worried. How one could be worried in the Eastern seas, I do not know. But I was.

Caspian cleared his throat awkwardly. Not since Ramandu's island had he made an official address, and he seemed a little out of practice... or maybe it just seemed unnecessary. In the silver sea, we were all equals at Aslan's gate.

"Friends," he began, "we have now fulfilled the quest on which you embarked. The seven lords are all accounted for and as Sir Reepicheep has sworn never to return, when you reach Ramandu's Land you will doubtless find the Lords Revilian and Argoz and Mavramorn awake. To you, my Lord Drinian, I entrust this ship, bidding you sail to Narnia with all the speed you may, and above all not to land on the Island of Deathwater. And instruct my regent, the Dwarf Trumpkin, to give to all these, my shipmates, the rewards I promised them. They have been earned well. And if I come not again it is my will that the Regent, and Master Cornelius, and Trufflehunter the Badger, and the Lord Drinian choose a King of Narnia with the consent..."

Drinian interrupted hotly, "Sire, you are... not abdicating?"

"I am going with Reepicheep to see the World's End," said Caspian.

The entire crew hummed and whispered with shock and disapproval. It was a terrible sound.

Caspian went on, undaunted. "We will take the boat. You will have no need of it in these gentle seas and you must build a new one in Ramandu's island. And now - "

"Caspian, you can't do this." Edmund turned away from the helm. He was not whining, he was not protesting. It was a command of an old monarch to the new monarch. But Caspian could not believe his ears, and his face grew slightly red.

"Most certainly his Majesty cannot," Reepicheep chimed in.

"No indeed," Drinian crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes seemed to say, _I've had enough with princes and kings and queens... my ship, my rules. _

"Can't?" Caspian repeated icily. "And what do you mean by 'can't', my_ loyal_ shipmates?"

For a moment, his Telmarine accent slipped back. It made him sound like Miraz.

"Begging your Majesty's pardon," said Rynelf, "but if one of us did the same it would be called deserting."

Caspian laughed sharply. "You presume too much on your long service, Rynelf."

"No, Sire! He's perfectly right," said Drinian.

Caspian glowered. "Name of Aslan," he slammed his hands down on the railing behind the helm, "I had thought you were all my subjects here, not my schoolmasters."

"I'm not your subject," Edmund spoke calmly. "I am your King, as much as you are my King. And I say you cannot do this."

"What do you mean by telling me 'I can't'? Do you attempt to command me as your brother did when he returned in his pompous glory?" Caspian suddenly realized he went too far, and had touched a nerve.

"It's nothing like that," Edmund responded, his hands balled into fists. "It's the WRONG thing to do, Caspian. You cannot abandon Narnia, not after all that happened... the sacrifices made to get YOU on the throne. It's wrong, and you know it."

"Is it so wrong to explore the hidden country of our deity? And you say 'CAN'T'?" Caspian shot back, as if trying to convince us of the great historical significance. Caspian was reminding me more and more of Captain Kirk, the William Shatner edition.

"If it please your Majesty, we mean shall not," Reepicheep attempted to soften the blow of a Mouse commanding a King with a humble bow. "You are the King of Narnia. You break faith with all your subjects, and especially with Trumpkin, if you do not return. You shall not please yourself with adventures as if you were a private person. And if your Majesty will not hear reason it will be the truest loyalty of every man on board to follow me in disarming and binding you till you come to your senses."

"He's right!" Edmund added heatedly. "And I'll make good on it, too!"

Caspian's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, as if he actually planned on defending himself against a crew that outnumbered him by the dozens.

"You've also promised Ramandu's daughter to go back," Lucy added quietly, "Does that mean nothing to you now? She wanted to travel, and you offered to help her."

Caspian's hand fell away from his sword hilt. "Well, yes. There is that," he said. There was a terrible pause.

"Fine then!" he said, waving a hand. "Have it your way. The quest is ended. We all return. Get the boat up again."

"But Sire," said Reepicheep, "Surely you don't mean 'all'. You promised me that I should go on like my heart desires..."

"Silence!" erupted Caspian. "I've been lessoned but I'll not be baited. Will no one silence that Mouse?"

"Your Majesty also promised," Reepicheep said darkly, with a glare that meant a certain duel might be declared in a matter of minutes, "to be good lord to the Talking Beasts of Narnia."

"Talking beasts, yes," said Caspian. "I said nothing about beasts that never stop talking." He went down the ladder, and the crowd parted to allow him through. He went to the door down to the hammocks, opened it, and slammed it so hard that a coil of rope fell off a hook on the mast.

"Well, go on then, to your posts until we receive... a clear order from a clear mind," Drinian said stiffly. "Do nothing until the King has had some time to think."

"What a temper," Eustace tried to laugh, but no one else joined in. "Reminds me of Peter," he added quietly.

"He does remind me of Peter," Lucy said thoughtfully. "Except that I do not believe Peter would ever leave the throne of Narnia for a little adventure like this."

"That's just it though," Ed replied, "It's not a little adventure. It's Aslan's country. He's been longing to see Aslan as much as me, or Pippin... He will do anything for it."

"Even punish the mouse," Reepicheep popped over the poop deck edge. "I cannot blame him. In fact I empathize with him. He wants to see the edge of the world... but he has responsibilities to Narnia that I do not."

"What usually happens when the King here loses his temper?" I asked. "In my world's history, a King would lose his temper, marry eight women, kill a bunch of people and probably start a new religion."

Edmund and Lucy and Eustace both laughed loudly.

Reepicheep twirled a whisker. "Caspian shall not marry eight women if we can help it," he said, a glint in his eye. "Though we've never put a name to our belief in Aslan. We could call it... the Order of the Lion?"

"Lionism?" I tried.

"Aslanican?" Lucy snickered.

"Catholic," Eustace said.

"What?" Edmund laughed again. "No, Eus, that doesn't work..."

"Cat. Cat-tholic. Catholic." Eustace explained exasperatingly. "Cat... Lion."

"You made a pun, I am so proud," I pretended to wave tears out of my eyes.

"Not a very good one," Edmund chuckled.

...

Sometime later, only twenty minutes or so, Caspian came out of the cabins again. He came up the ladder, and wordlessly, Drinian, Rhince, and Reepicheep followed.

The face that came over the edge and onto the deck was very changed. His skin was pale as if he had a great shock, and there were tears streaming freely from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, as soon as he rejoined us. "I am so, so sorry. Forgive me my foolishness."

"Of... course," Edmund said, uncertainly.

"What's wrong, Caspian?" Lucy asked kindly, seeing that it wasn't merely a change of mind but a change of heart as well.

Caspian sat between Eustace and I at the railing. Eustace inched ever so slightly away, feeling awkward.

I'd never seen Caspian cry like this. I'd seen him sad, certainly, maybe a slightly tearful in Redhaven. I had seen him use the mask of a King to hide his desolation from losing a crew member during the storm. This was different. This was a childlike admission of inconsolable hopelessness. He sobbed as if he had just seen a beloved family pet hit by a car in the street.

"There there," I said awkwardly, laying a tentative hand on his arm. When he made no move to shrug away, I moved my hand to his back, patting it lightly. "Are you all right?"

"It's no good," he said. "I might as well have behaved decently for all the good I did with my temper and swagger."

_But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger, _my mind automatically filled in.

"What is no good?" Lucy pressed, she and Edmund walking closer and standing in front of us, affectively hemming Caspian in. It wasn't so much to corner him as it was to give him a little privacy. Drinian, Rhince, and Reepicheep casually eavesdropped by the helm.

"Aslan has spoken to me."

"Was he?" I began.

"No - I don't mean he was actually here," Caspian was smiling and crying at once. "He wouldn't fit into the cabin, for one thing. But that gold lion's head on the wall came to life and spoke to me." He paused, growing subdued. "It was terrible... his eyes. Not that he was at all rough with me - only a bit stern at first. But it was terrible all the same."

He choked up again, as vulnerable as one could be. I didn't know how many boundaries I was crossing, but I reached over and carefully brushed one of his tears away from trailing down into his beard.

"And he said - he said - oh, I can't bear it. The worst thing he could have said." He looked up at us, the tears streaming down, his eyes growing swollen and bloodshot. His breaths were coming in those unattractive heaves when you're crying so hard that you can't stop until you nearly pass out of exhaustion. "You're to go on," he exclaimed, "Reep and Edmund, Lucy and Pippin, and Eustace; and I'm to go back. Alone. And at once. And what is the good of anything?"

Without realizing it, I withdrew my hand too quickly. Go back? So soon? I was homesick, sure, but suddenly I realized that I could get over being homesick _really _quickly if I put my mind to it.

Lucy didn't miss a beat. "Caspian, dear," she said comfortingly, kneeling in front of him and putting a hand on his knee. "You know we'd have to return to our own world sooner or later."

"Yes, but this is sooner," Caspian sobbed, taking her hand in his own, and then turning to me and looping and arm around my shoulders. "You two... all of you... you've brought such _joy _on this voyage, gifts I can never repay. You... Queen of old," he smiled down at Lucy, "You are a light in the darkness. I will never forget your valor now that I have seen it in action. You spoke into the nightmare island, you set free the dufflepoodles...oh, bother, whatever they are called. And you!" he turned and looked at me, giving my shoulders a shake. "You let your dignity and reputation go out the window by consenting to present yourself as my Lady of Choice at the banquet, merely to satisfy my prideful inability to be honest. You warned us of pirates and showed your bravery by staying at our sides when we waited at Ramandu's island. You've faithfully worked in the kitchens and all the crew is grateful."

"Tis nothing," I said awkwardly, blushing slightly.

Caspian stood up, and shook Edmund's hand. "I am sorry for what I said about your brother, and by comparing you to that unfair accusation," he pulled Edmund in for a hug, "Please forgive me."

"Of course!" Edmund declared with feeling. "You're like another brother. Brothers call each other names and fight all the time. We've just managed to postpone it." The hug lasted long enough for Edmund to pat his back comfortingly. "You'll be... fine... without us."

Caspian pulled back. "A person without friends is _fine, _and capable, but is he happy?"

"You are not without friends," Lucy said.

"I know," Caspian answered, "But when you leave, I will be without my family."

Lucy and Edmund nodded, silently. The crew had gathered below, listening in like a group of birds strung along a power line, just _waiting _for you to leave something from your picnic behind. The only sound in the strange air thick with magic was the lapping of shallow waters against the wood of the boat, and the occasional thump of the sail in a uselessly small breeze.

Somewhere beyond the shallows, there was a mighty roar... not of a Lion, but of a tide coming in. But perhaps here that was one and the same.

_..._

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_Next chapter: The end that I've been hoping to avoid for a long time, even to the point of not updating this story because... like the world of Narnia, I do not wish to be parted from it. You'd best expect plenty of real, raw emotion, and hopefully you'll only cry half as much as I will whilst putting the memory down to electronic paper. _

...

* * *

Reviewer replies:

Penspot: Thank-you :) You're so sweet! I'm happy to hear that the memory erasure is working out for the story. You can never really tell what'll work till you throw it out there.

Softballgirl: It's okay, you guys still review ten times faster than I can write a chapter ;) if there was any justice in the world you'd wait like six months before reviewing, leaving me on pins and needles... but luckily you all haven't done that to me yet, haha. Thank-you for your thoughts!

mbilmey: Are you back from your mission yet? Or are your tumblr updates from a queue? I am not on tumblr as much as I used to be so I haven't really seen you there.

isi7140: I know I wrote you a message already but I want to acknowledge it here too. I loved your review, it made me laugh and possibly freak out a little. I can't believe I've had any influence on someone's viewing of the Prince Caspian movie, and I thought the game of spotting Shade was a game that I played alone. Someday I will schedule some sort of livestream and we'll ALL watch Prince Caspian TOGETHER! You're amazing, thanks for your comments :)

Lady Courage: haha yeah I looked her up and she is only ever referred to as "Ramandu's Daughter" so I thought I'd borrow her name from the movie. And I think in Silver Chair she is only referred to as The Queen, though I don't think I triple-checked that. Either way, it was hard to write her, as her descriptions in the book are pretty superficial and I didn't want her to come across as Starlight Barbie or something like that. Thanks for your review ;)

Daughter of the Master: I can't wait to check out your fics! So glad you're writing!

madfantic: Are you kidding? I love internet bear hugs! They are surprisingly non lethal!

GoTeamSkipper: I don't think I'll be doing a sequel, if I did, it probably wouldn't be set in the Narnian verse. Anyway, there's some interesting legal issues when it comes to making a Silver Chair movie... (Douglas Gresham, C.S. Lewis's stepson, has to wait 7 years before the rights of the film is available for an independent company to use, which of course, he would have to do since the studios pulled out). Even then, I'm not sure I'd want to make a sequel for Silver Chair, because it just wouldn't be the same without Ed and Lucy.

FairyPirate: I feel your pain, trust me. I hope I get a long heartfelt review later? ;)

Silimaira: Thank-you! Glad you got the answer, it means that should you ever be trapped in a cave with Gollum, you'd win :)


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